Life

in the morning,

before the doubt,

before the poison,

anything is possible,

the world is bright and new,

fresh and alive,

but then like the morning

it is gone,

as reality sets in;

I wait outside her domain

like a dog in heat,

I listen to her voice

pounding within,

like ocean waves

on a dark angry night,

she holds me in arms

of shifting winds,

without shape or form;

life is full of wasted time,

wide open spaces and moments,

in between the only ones that count,

long drawn out hours of insufferable

boredom,

highlighted by seconds of indescribable

pleasure;

life is a never ending orgasm,

working and struggling,

building and rising,

working for just one

short burst,

one quick release;

I want a place to hide,

a shelter from the storm,

safety in the wilderness,

a home within the night;.

what words can be said for this?

what salvation, what mercy,

what redemption?

.

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