I awaken to the dew of nothingness;
Beyond the seas of tragedy,
I enter the plane of refuge;
No longer chased by the steads of chaos,
I am still as I ride onto the carpet of the winds;
Currents subdued by chance,
I dive in solitude,
But not from a movement of aloneness,
But of gratitude.
Photo credit: Photo by Jp Valery on Unsplash
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I yearn for the freedom of the road,
Where the Airstream pumps the beat of my heart,
The shadows of the landscape,
Lights the caverns of serendipity,
Rolling through its divine,
I feel it’s allure,
Taunting and insightful,
Its lips pursed stealing a kiss from my obedience.
Love is in the details,
Hidden and coy,
But intense like the breath of God.
The sun serenades through the summit,
As the dusky sky calls to the nocturnal,
Boots cozied by the fire,
Releasing the stories it holds,
From the rambunctious of asphalt,
To the headiness of backwoods dirt,
Forgiveness drifts to where only the stars can see,
Loitering in contemplation,
The moons winks in revival.
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Clustered in her independence,
Her rocky edges holds the artist’s heart,
A sea of change in her Gaudi atmosphere,
Small bites along her back,
Charms the weary seamen to her shores,
Barna they call her,
The vibrations of a thousand guitar strings,
Hums the embrace of an American’s heart.
I thought this would be an allegory,
But I became distracted,
The Sagrada stole my gaze;
I suppose that’s the nature of God.
War Poems 