Poem: In the Thirsty Hours of Living
In the thirsty hours of living,
there is an unoccupied terrace leaning towards the sun.
As I stand naked and depleted,
my presence brings tension
to the strings beneath the bow.
I am un-imprisoned from
a fortified city, now abandoned.
Staring upwards into bound pages,
My relevance, dripping repetitively from my tongue,
Is formed from the worn pathway
To the narrowing scope of Touchable Truth.
Fragments of whispers
past wealthy darkness
where my words are collected
by the fitting room Attendant
of Exhaustive Expanse.
Centuries of Patience
Emerge to robe me in
Freeing far-flung melodies
that fall like petals
as Oneness takes my hand,
leading me Alongside
the river called “Named”.