An Apparition of Belief
I arrived with the face of a ghost, or an apparition
of belief that substance could be contained within a
box of stone...or upon the bark of a tree, a memorial
existing only in the vacuole of one's stanched chest.
The universe is calling us to be ourselves, though
it is not always an easy call to answer, for a quiet
madness can never wear the clothes of a dream;
too many things can go wrong and for most we never
do find our way back.
Still, tomorrow will come dawn with all it's travails
and steady notions of a tongue dividing it's p's and q's,
for the sake of...well...speaking...through a quivering spine
perhaps, all deep tissue tense and anticipating,
And thus we reach over the sun, to touch the
waves that danced at our feet, knowing that this
must be enough for now...as for me, now, in departure,
I am thinking of taking up sailing...of taking my chances
against the tide, where perhaps some far away god
will look down and see no more than a flawless speck,
barely noticeable, dressed as myself against an island of blue.
(March 12 2016)
Copyright © J. Tudor | Year Posted 2016
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