Sunday, 2 March 2014

On Days like These

On days like these, my thoughts gather like dust
landing on water, blown there by a gust
of my imagination. Silent, still,
and not yet seen, these motes lie mute until
I pick one up, as pick one up I must.

It is an old thought, perishing like rust;
a memory, and one I cannot trust
to tell a truth. I let it fall then fill
my hands with other thoughts: hope breeds goodwill
on days like these.

I go through all the thoughts and readjust
my view of ‘self’ (again): they’re full of lust
for the surreal and absurd. Their will
is to sing in rainbows with a shrill,
facetious voice which rings out (only just)
on days like these.

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