Quiet Rest Stops

fog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~

These places exist if we open their doors,

too busy, so afraid, of letting go.

‘My anxiety is nothing like yours;’

sweeping strands become my complacent throes

like winds scream, thunders a prejudice grasp –

Our minds are often sinewy chasms.

When eyes behold our sweet real lives a hasp,

held out hands, breezy thrills, soft orgasms

of heart felt love in the kindness of dreams.

Crawl, explore … a constant lonely surface

of fear persists, always alive it seems.

Shine in torrential rains, alive we face

soft music sharp awaits with beckoned cry:

sooth, glide, strive for love, forget about why.

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