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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 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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