poetry

Last night as I awoke I noticed
The mind washing sugar cubes with its raccoon hands
Staring through its bandit eyes at the disappearing sweetness
Things dissolving, the mirage of satisfaction
Floating above a ceaseless thirsty horizon.

And still waddling around like an old dictator
Who is losing his death grip on the people
The mind searching for more grasped for another cube
And though these inner eyes are deepening, opening, softening

To kindness, warmth, and caring hung on
Until the soft light and playful bells of my alarm
Chased the old guy from his mock throne
Stirred the dust and arose to kneel before a silence easeful

As a candle flickering in the vaulted dawn.

Charles S. Jasper