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Daydreaming | Remembering Dreams | Into The Woods | Page Four Title | Watching | Enter The Fabled Succubus | Lost And Found


Poetry Is Passion
Lost And Found



Marvellous thing called Life
Uneasy and exciting
New and old at once
Ever changing, singular
A multitude in diversity,
Celebrating love sometime found
There are better things than this
And I think I have a clue
As to where to find them
Behind the obvious word
Hastily spoken, vexed
Under the implicit suggestion
That we should all try harder
To excel, exceed, excite!

The swan resembles
A moving statue.


Sleepless nights, counting stars and runaway sheep,
Trying to cross over into some kind of wonderland,
Dreaming a while on the border of wake and sleep,
My bed is rather comfy and I do not feel the need,
To get up and smoke or eat and drink,
Slowly drifting off,
First gentle image appearing,
A language without sounds,
Souls intercommunicating,
A little story unfolds,
And as ever I am the star,
But there are other faces here,
Strange and yet familiar,
They are saying important things,
Full of prophesy and warning,
And I can barely understand,
What all this may mean to me,
And when I reach for it
It slips, I shake, awake;
Time for morning coffee.

Dieu Le Volt!