Delusions Before Having the First Morning Coffee

(or Winter Calls)


A soul as empty
as the early morning sky
on a cool wintery day
reminding
of a boyhood lost
replaced with the daily duties
of an unfulfilling life
pay the bills
feed the pets
call the family
do your job
can you see
the life that
should have been
through the clear emptiness
the deep expanse of
the sea
where herds of fish
swim like sheep
unerringly like
the men and women
in suits lining up
for the subway train
lining up for the
escalators - people movers -
too blind to see that
they have legs
and can walk away
but going like
cows to the slaughter
of another soul murdering day
without ambition or hope
thoughts of loved ones
distant specks of a memory
half a world away
where again
the fish in the sea
swim on into the jaws
of another
unable to change course
like freight trains
in the night coming closer
on the same track
push ever onward!
try to find that
time where it was right
the headlights shine in eyes
bright as day
through the empty shell
of an oyster raped of its pearl
(some people slam on
the accelerator
in haste believing
it to be the break)
the sky filling with
vultures that
prey on the body
separated from the pearl
but the body still
is moving
and the vultures wait
starving like an
anorexic
loving food but
never eating
trying to find the soul
lost in the past
like the car keys or TV remote
never knowing the last
place it was
pushed to the edge
so many times
it becomes easier
to jump each time
and the one thing
holds you back
that tug of the soul
the one piece left
like one snowflake
in an otherwise empty sky
one pure drop of water
the beginning to fill
a bucket
empty from years of neglect
to the edge again
to catch a life
lost in the days
thrown up to the sky
where seagulls fly
skimming over
ocean waves
that wash over beaches
that were once rock
pounded to sand
by the mindless rush of water
pieces of a whole
washed out to sea
separated by boundaries
undefinable by time
never able to become whole
with the pieces
it once belonged
a lost past
never to be regained as
the pearl is put on a string
the vulture dives
the sand washes into
an oyster shell
as a second snowflake falls.

© 1996, Robinson Publications, all rights reserved
First Published in Paper.com, Issue 6