Satisfied am I with the twisting melodies of yesterday’s yearning?
Driven am I to bedeck my mind in frivolities of yesterday’s learning?
Poking holes in theories ill-suited to soulish life
but still beholding too near my swollen strife.
* * *
Come what may, then, bestir what’s left of daytime’s faith
and mix it up and blend it till sweet to the taste.
Whirl these dervishing bedevilments and find the pearls made sand,
and make them pearls again – in heart, less than in hand.
* * *
Make the numbers match the math when teasing out the will
to sit, to silence all, the tongue, the words, and still
endure with me these acrid hours like waiting for the train
of hopeful dreaming coming soon, once more to love again.