Jo Bien Poet Classicism

All Too Soon

illusion drips from swollen sky 
thunder crashes in the night 
there’s no hope of staying dry 
I shout a prayer, there’s no replies 

poetry and visions creep 
inside my brain that tries to sleep 
shaking all of the beliefs 
nothing sacred here for me 

madness wanders to and fro 
down this unsigned, dusty road 
on my mind, this heavy load 
intuition thick with mold

my third eye that’s partially blind
ghosts that hide here in plain sight
it could all work out just fine
if I open my heart and close my mind

another dance, another tune 
another one of love’s buffoons 
the calendar marks the month of June 
it will be over all too soon

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Line Gauthier March 9, 2018 at 6:23 PM A delightful read, Jo. Very sweet. Much appreciated.