Friday, January 23, 2015


Each breath
draws in ink
swirling through his lungs
latching onto words,
then letters
dribble… past his lips –
but some days….
it’s just moments
of acrid, dark blue –
expelled hypocrisy,
which stains.
Closed eyes
to breathe again
and find… a path to walk –
brush aside, the cages held
these saddled, barriers of mind –
stride towards the golden hues
purples, yellows, oranges…
and the powdered blues.
Breathe again,
draw-in the ink –
opening your eyes… 
not far off, you see
the distant dreams
and tranquility…
waiting –
standing at the end.