An Old Marching Order

The rain spits all around with great gusto,
and my fabric gives way here and there,
the water hydrating my bones in spots,
my fear of the storm grows outward into admiration.

Taking Flight

Open sky and soaring greens and yellow,
I try to chose mine as you beckon me with all fervor,
my mind takes wing, like a fly buzzing frenetically,
to and fro with some hidden purpose, yet all the while
the door is shut, there's no way out.

Oh please understand, I've always intended to end up,
bound in your web, yet I can't seem to dream the same each night.

Good Morning

I remember the fleeting taste of breakfast,
minutes following, my tongue shrinking back in confusion.
A mix of food and a man-made mint sensation fight for control.

Not All There

It's a dark night, one where the lamp is surrounded by black,
I can find a couple of good excuses to complain about,
ways to relieve my dissatisfaction onto another shoulders.

And all I seem to feel is this warmth which makes me so isolated,
a stagnant air, cozy,
I begin to long for something sharp,
definite, an icicle, or cold steel.
A pin prick to be sure I'm all there.