Short Enquiries Poems

In the dark she composes,
Bleek from the mind's whispers.
An image in comprehension
Cohabiting with the soul's rhythm
masking a vocal, 
So oddly high in pitch, yet a whisper
When voiced.
Yet at that the cranium watches
As enquiries linger at the tip
Of her cebrum, for thee 
Who's not ready for quest shall swim
In a cage of self doubt.
...

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The streams deluge is a sweet impromptu

Of entranced embankments deflecting the mass,

Infinite depths are the enquiries, ‘where to’

Jagged, tempestuous perpendiculars, alas

Quantify clandestine with volume I’d muster,

Then rapid becomes and is powerless to stop

Disturbing my sleep and awakening lack lustre,

Gently it beckons to an inevitable drop.

Just as my thoughts ask, ‘where do my dreams go?

How long have I slept here, and how far the flow....

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