The Time Has Come

He slowly walks the lonely crowded road lost in love and Self and lucky destination Has no clue where his barren feet will lead yet delusion is cast away from anchor’s rope Sandy ripples where the pavement rapped trousers worn by threads of passing dread denuded to the core of looming meaning step upon step towards ever so many directions Tattooed on mind meek towering wisdom and the certainty that if you never take the other road you’ll never know what treasures might be found at roadblocks and junctions His jingles smell nostalgia his taste too sore to touch those banging shrieking visions teeth too sore to clench high mounting tension nevertheless and always the more he feels Reason has fused with tearful emotions harmony of conclusion grips ambivalence therefore his heartfelt dissipating opposition in diametric venture holds the future in disguise One tear from his cryptic optic passion and he would slip one tear splitting the middle way too often and he might turn back to nowhere near where tangible became too messed for blessing Timothy wanders in wonder and silent meditation driven by his inner re-birthed voice to find another register of reconnaissance with hurting feet and soaring blisters and thus he laughs at himself Giggles wriggles talks a break to tickle his fancy titters a howling roar cracks a serious joke and mends the yarn of living narrative on unfolding path A jester solemnly parades and his truths emerges September 2018