Predispositions
Past the point of plenty
There are times and often signs,
Inches and inclinations,
And unknowns that are blown,
By predispositions.
Past the point of plenty,
Not always black and white,
Sentiments that stick like glue,
The themes of dreams at night.
Dancing to a different song,
The mirror on the wall,
In an ancient atmosphere,
Trying not to fall.
Filaments of fantasy,
Drift like motes of dust,
Thoughts that ought to fly away,
Underneath the crust.
Mindfulness and magic,
The dew and morning mist,
A pardon in the garden,
Something I may have missed.
Walking in a different world,
My mind I find in flight,
Opening a brand-new day,
Streaming with white light.
Down by the bay the ripples,
No footsteps in the sand,
A pristine place I can embrace,
As I softly land.
Into another place,
A different state of mind,
A time to leave the human race,
Relax and unwind.
Copyright reserved
David Rudder
26th March 2020
Thanks for reading.
