THE WAY TO WHEN

 

A million ways to spend a day

not tried them all but have to say,

 

that if I had the way to when

I’d quiet find and open then

 

the pages of the poet’s hand.

Then fly away to distant land,

 

or feel the fire of deep desire,

submersed in words, I’d never tire.

 

Or float through worlds that few have known,

no boundaries there, no thoughts of home,

 

nor caring what is real or dream

as feelings flow like crystal streams.

 

Which feelings I am lost to find

inside my heart, inside my mind.

 

In daily walk amongst the dead,

cast to the sea with boots of lead.

 

I feel that I would drown and die,

my only hope the thought that I

 

can find again the way to when

I’m all alone with such a friend -

 

the healing words of poet’s hand…

the only words I understand.