in reluctance to the search from within
the vase jar still hangs by the window sill
there are voices in my head no whispering
a very faint sound of selfish fervor
inside we hide behind four walls
alone again in the vanquished torment
Tranquility
a house by an ocean sound with quaint colors
the vested remnants of a porch swing hung outside in patio
traffic outside the hallway with squeals of children laughing
memories of salt in the air from the brisk breeze
a tree would often loom basking in the sway
the inner pendulum of silence etched inside
to gaze on the outside with inner tranquility
to bask in the vast breeze would quench my thirst
I'll record these moments on pen with paper
whispers...
a very faint cry of sadness
one may evoke fear from its madness
Illumination
angelic fervor with a residue of sweet honey
the fervent cry of birds in sequence
a diseased tree just making it past Autumn
life is made up with moments alone in time
Sublime
a call to tranquility,
to light the inner spark of what we need to know
Calling from the realm of passion released to intertwine
This is quite a poem of unusual relationships. It might be dubbed
"special relationships of spatial relationships." You offer many ways to think about tranquility. I like it because it drives me deeper into the wordsmithing pool of originality.
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
"special relationships of spatial relationships." You offer many ways to think about tranquility. I like it because it drives me deeper into the wordsmithing pool of originality.