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It was just an ordinary maze of a day unlike so many others

An array of multitude hanging from intersections of fortune

Aberrations cul-de-sacs opposites shadows cautious anticipation

Tentative expectations inspiration expiration holding their breath

Tim was aware that knowledge without actions falls short of

Full marks and the stains on a palette of multi-chrome canvas


The thunder had settled but lightning had left an eerie mood

Of emotions lingering from cracks that dawned upon mist

He had been searching for a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow

In essence his consciousness streamed a stairway to heaven

He gathered his raincoat for it still showered heavily in the wind

Oiled his skin and his soul with sun lotion for extra protection


He needed a kite though and therefore grounded his wings 

Flew roots of all causes out of their shelter caressed his ascent


Surely Icarus had applied far too much wax from torched fire

Until he had waned a high flyer no doubt but ambitiously crashed


Tim had burnt his candle at both ends had exhausted the wick

So he fastened a brittle wicker basket to strings of the sun’s rays 


The hallowed lands beckoned and he floated on a song and a

Prayer assured in the faith that the spur of the moment was based

On hard graft morphing tentative feeling with persistence and reason

He remembered that as a young child he had wished to take off

Only to graze his knees and his Ego once he fell to the ground but

Now he was surely an adult or maybe a youngster in disguise of grey hair


Yet thinking only got him so far he had mistaken a Pi in the sky

For a long-winded diagonal squaring the roots of the circle of life

Prime numbered primordial screams still clouded exuberant vision

Until a voice out of nowhere revealed conjecture he could not refute

‘If you truly want to discern that golden pot from potty insanity’ his 

Diaphragm whispered ‘you must try something new not follow the past’


A beacon of trans-luminous intuition transcended Tim’s ambition

Epilogues are just beginnings ‘I am a scribe with pen and a fountain’

A nib with comprehension but ‘nascent meaning acts upon dreams’

Once het let go of the misconception that rainbows have endings he

Jumped straight to the middle collected droplets of light in the fog


Tim settled on the crest of prisms in condensed reflection and peace

‘No more fool’s gold’ his epiphany shouted ‘Just seize another day’



16th February 2019
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