Solitude

Internal Traveller
 



It is a short journey here
to the dark chamber of judgement
where the thought process
is peeled apart by thought itself.

I'm sure it is a trip we all encounter,
an intense identification of the inner sanctum
where the soul cries almost anonymous
in its search for solitude.

But what do we see
in this collusion of mirrors?
Where do we go
when we know who we are?

Mal Foster

Insomnias

go mysteries insomnias
horse-ride in my wounds
forcefeed my vains of boredom
I am thirsty, I am thirsty, I am thirsty


I have trumpets and saxophones
I have jazz in my belly nightmare
I have the virgin forest of sculls
negros, negros, negros
alcohol in the shadow of my eyes

I have my belly full of drums
mysteries insomnias musical
negros drums spleen
play, play, play


in my belly mirage
the rythm laziness of era
play my fingers variations
call eyes closed
call the sadness and fatality
call leaziness on my face
I want to listen
I want to play
I want to dream

Discovery
 


Walking quietly through lifes maze,
drawn by fate in the twilight hour.
Paths crossed
Briefly entwined for moments of
contentment.
A certain comfort hidden within
the depths of ones soul.
Buried memories of a last touch
silently creeps into my dream,
Far beyond my grasp I reach for thee.
Drifting deeper within these walls of
solitude light breaks through and the
energy of life begins a new.
And once again a chance to impact the
universe.

Barbara Grant-Richardson