Drink of Life

My planned spontaneity doesn’t surprise; my rose colored glasses don’t cover my eyes but all of that matters so little. It’s true because of the fortunate presence of you. We’ve matching insanities, perfectly synched we stare and we stare then together we blink Compatible vices, no reasons to hide with hearts on our sleeves we will stumble in stride. When life gives me lemons, I know what to make, I’ve gallons and gallons, I’m filling a lake. And wasn’t it fortunate, nearly a sin that I should meet one to whom life would give Gin.

Walter Murray

Murray is a fine cat Soft with fuzzy ears. Walter is a strange cat Filled with silly fears. Walter is a smile cat Murray is a frown. They are both the same cat Up and upside down. Two of them are one cat Over double lazy. Murray is the sane cat Walt would be the crazy. Beasley walks her both cat Daily with a halter. Often she plays spin cat Walter-Murray-Walter. Walter is a night cat Murray rules the day. Who's the dusk and dawn cat? I can't really say. They are not a clawed cat Tears are salty water. And it makes it worse that They can't have a daughter. SO...Murray had a mark on his head; shaped like a "W" or an "M" depending on your perspective.....or was his real name "Walter"... I honestly don't remember.

The Oldest of One

I’m the youngest of seven, the oldest of one,
a paradox past understanding;
the oldest of five that I wed on the run
while fleeing the market street landing.
I’m naked, inside, as the eyes of a clown
and cannot believe what I've told you…
but such as this can’t keep the tongue in me down
my ignorance needs to enfold you.

© Copyright 2006 W.D. Neighbors

Opaque

Opaque, before the light of early dawn, a window pane; a portal to our youth, plays visions out of time. My eyes are drawn to scenes within. An oracle of truth embraces me, its chilly arms enfolding my heart and all my dreams. She loves him yet; she mourns the distant hand she could be holding; the touch her mind and body can’t forget. As dark as any moonless night I’ve known, and darker still; my heart. What muse that’s left is black as any crow that’s ever flown; beyond despair, and utterly bereft-- as if the eyes of God were unforgiving; as if my soul had died and left me living.

Echo

He lives within the shadow of a dream and hides when a reality comes near. But shadows aren’t as harmless as they seem for deep within the darkness lives the fear that ghosts can be of substance in the soul; that dreams can turn to nightmares on demand. To bolster his imaginary role, with manufactured bravery, he’ll stand and throw his sweetest nothings to the wind as if to test loves non-existent bond. Although he knows her life will never end he's so afraid his love will not respond, he shouts “I love you” just for the reply... and prays the echo doesn’t reckon why.