The Cycle

A fog
thick… billowing… engulfing a nation
impermeable
hiding from many that which is
teasing swirls of uncertainty beckon
unclear in shape and content
only to disappear back into the grey
leaving the child within them to interpret
that which was not there

Puffs of incoherence coalesced
a new abstract born of vapor…
there one instant and gone the next
bowing to a breeze, or
destroyed by the light of day exposing
that born in the dark…
that born from vapor returns to vapor
to engulf those who cannot see
through the fog they create

One Way Ticket

Wisps of incoherence seek refuge in
empty caldrons
new and untainted
free of scratches and dents
absent the scaring of rusty thought

A canvas awaits
ideas to be absorbed in permanence
someone else’s ideas anchor
the canvas to hold them as truths
for its life cycle

Empty spaces filled and
new track laid with followers held
to pre-determined paths
windblown sands hide remnants
of those who escaped the yoke