Drifting on the Ship of Dreams

Idle the waves,
Temperate the speed,
Port and starboard of one’s life,
Balanced,
Righted,
Afloat with winged calm.

How beautiful the setting,
Etched history of crystal refracting sun's horizon,
While overhead beams of Edison
Highlight floral accents so small.
Yet to some,
So prescient in scope.

They love me they love me not
Serenades us in silence,
While Epicurean's silverware
Display will-o'-the-wisp reflections
Atop white clouds of linen comfort
Knowing their calling soon will begin.

Alone perhaps
As all become
But such a celebratory buffet.

Having chosen lightly from life's infatuation,
The naked salads sprouted from grist,
Adorned by dressings of mixed color,
Remind the palate where the banquet early began,
Once simply samplings of raw growth,
Now homogenized into death's sweet and sour disguise.

Inhaling deeply,
We beckon moist breezes
Curve comforting auras about our mind.
Soothe unhealed scars within the heart.

Oh. the remembering.

The remembering.

We pause…

Breathing blood red wine
Awaits our taste of resolve,
Even as the waft of espresso
Alerts our senses to tomorrows
Not yet lived.

As steward in white arrives,
Insistence prevails,
Longing resists.

We ask…

Might this be only one such night,
One such pause to consider yet another day,
Another breath.

Silence delivers the answer.

Dining on the ship of dreams,
Where imagination,
The taste of one’s next actuality,
Awaits Neverland's satiated moment

When all one’s restricted reality is over.