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Thoughts upon awakening from a dream about the gods, the creative soul
(enthousiasmos, inspiration) which brings them to life but other times lost,
beyond reach, forgotten.
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...Whose creative stir awakes the gods from their somnambulistic swirl
Or passing visions from the distant horizons
And continued yearnings from afar
Saddens or sullies our hearts
And brings us to the precipice
...Hanging by the flimsiest of threads
Of a seething, terrifying and blackened abyss!

Or whose passing vision touches but saddens our hearts
..Soils then sweeps in the petty fears that tyrannize our lives
And turn our creative yearnings into passing Ideals (caricatures)
That make the years a destiny of lost and forgotten dreams
And our lives a bankrupt carapace
Amidst the dead, dumb and fatuous stares of our now meaningless and Hollow lives!

Whose Flights of fancy or Inspired selves
Are not lived as though in a poet's dream but in the midst the silence of Unending Hell.

It is the Dreamers dear Sirs that often suffer
For they muse upon the whispering and subtle pines that others find too difficult
..Or too strange and afar.
Clearly we would like to think not!
But the unending years of our disenfranchised and disembodied selves
Would seem to make it so!

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It Breathes me
I Breathe it
Moments of chatter abate in this empathetic Intelligent skin
Oh! this Living body we fill with blindness and turn a deaf ear!

The rising and falling choruses amidst this Silent Beauty Unnamed
Carrying me forth to memories - lost though now reborn
In this ubiquitous Air, this ever changing Light, this ever-present.


Summer 08, Hudson River/ Tallman Park, NY