Alone

When I'm alone
I ponder on the fees I pay
For my philosophy
I harken to see the end
To predict the shape of the finished web
The life still yet to descend 
I try immensely to decipher the thoughts of God
While passionately chewing on a soft bone

When I’m alone
I build odds among the odds
Like creating an awe-like perfect painting
With diverse uglies
In a way it reminds me of me
A cohesive beauty with recesses that need fixing
More like tweaking, or redeeming, maybe changing
It activates a compassion towards my sometimes unruly reasoning




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Bird chaser

Its still too early
Indeed
I have to make this face
Or Il let them stay 

Those little hopping rocks
Parading their multi coloured coats
Tiny dreamers like Joseph
Averring claims no one understands

Those swift flying rocks
Landing with ease each time
Quick and elegant
As if communing with the breeze-

Their master
Who carries their incoherent song
As they rollick through the space 
While its still early
Il make this face-

To keep my heart ready to stand against
Their charming bickers
A uniform of elders and children
Its past pleasing

But I've planted the seeds
Of regal trees
Hence Il make this face
In readiness to chase away
My most loveliest adversary





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That day

That day 
Pieces of the sky fell to the earth
The passions of men were dragged in the soil
Trust become an unwelcome friend
The wings of every bird dissolved in the air
There were no fruits after the flowers-
and thorns had great power
Snow was ash from the battle of angels
There was no hope to spark the engines
So they walked or sat in their dungeons
Waiting on the oil of freedom -
and a glory to unravel

Photo by Tom Fisk on Pexels.com