morning thoughts

rain on the horizon. dripping down like tears over unknown hopes. Incubating days of sorrow and joy . Leaving a trace that can hardly be found. When all is covered in a tick mantle of grey the branches salute the sky unheard.Their prayers reach up and meet the blank stares of tourists watching for interesting events to take them away from the blandness. Fallen into a long tunnel of expectations I wonder searching for the way out. nothing personal, I am told. all is fiction. So I search through the lines trying to decipher the hidden references to facts known to me but the dust seeps through my fingers and falls at my feet forming patterns I fail to recognize. The poet is depressed, standing on the top of the hill looking down. He can only see me through a curtained veil. The light is dim and he can just make out the shape but I am shifting, ready to move on. The shadow is fleeting, just like the hours and you gotta catch them when you see them. the gypsy travels on in some faraway land of the imagination and the spinner spins and waits to cut that thread when the time is ripe. The walker walks down the lane, cutting the park in half, balancing on the white line in the middle. A lady with a dog passes by and doesn't understand. She looks puzzled, watching from the sidelines where she s always been. The lover sighs and wishes for another embrace, wondering when it will shine its healing light . Beauty awaits in a shady corner unseen by most.