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
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