Solitary-Poet

Prisoners of our own reality,

Dreamers of our own denial,

Mind entrapped, speaks volumes

To itself, an echo within,

Nothing that can be heard,

Silent words and sentences,

Formless prose without function.

 

Steps frozen, in glacial sands

Halted in trembling fingers,

Withered by time,

A step – aching to be taken,

Halted in eternity.

Numbers counted, 1-2-3,

Strange soft rhythm,

Once again 1-2-3,

Urging a step song,

Mind struggling with the body,

Hesitated, steps and halts,

Moves again to numbers.

 

Dark rooms and withered chairs,

Stillness, a movement now impossible,

Beautiful mind, once solved complexity,

Healed and channeled simplicity,

Turned pain and suffering into joy,

Now handles its own pain,

Counts and urges movements,

Steps once again, a 1-2-3.

 

White doves stilled, frozen on highway walls,

Fluttering wings, carefree flying,

Lost in the barren cold,

Stillness pervades – pain of movement,

Memory of past, slowly gathered and

Even slowly recalled.

A quitenees struggling to come out,

Held and frozen, coming to a close.

Frozen windows to the soul,

Await for the reincarnation of summer,

After a long winter night,

Await the end of one life,

And the beginning of another.