Monday, April 16, 2012


I make up pictures on the floorboards
from my vantage point, my seat.
Patterns of eyes and lines of grain
peer from the floor by a wise man's feet.
I search for shapes that might make sense
or form familiar patterns there,
There on the ground on which we walk
without a second thought or care,
I seek some beauty or some peace,
some clearing in a shadowed wood
Where tangled branches cloud the light 
and blur the line between bad and good,

I shield my eyes from dazzling glare
that shines from intermittent beacons
And turn away from those who may
innocently draw me to temptation,
I think, instead, of one who waits
and wishes for my swift return,
Her smiling face and open arms,
they make me wish I had not gone.
I see her dancing in a hall,
her perfect feet on a wooden floor,
And smile to realise that she’s
my very own Conduiramour.

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