My mind drifts

My mind drifts,


to reminisce,

and to predict –


of what is 

to become.

I float

toward this unknown,

waterfalls, lakes, oceans –

new shores to rest upon;

what becomes of me

has little to do 

with the stories I tell,

and everything to do 

with the decisions I make.

My mind drifts,

and if I could,

I would plant myself

but I can’t find my feet

to ground myself;

so I plant new seeds,

leave myself 

to float away,

and begin again

some other day.

Morning’s sense of humour

I read,
seeing not believing,
in search of meaning,
myself reflected through stories,
my mind wonders and dreams.

I write in my diary,
not knowing what I think,
how I feel or what to say,
but words appear,

I walk,
but the woods offer no shelter.
Ghosts appear
to taunt me – humour me!
Self-indulgence is my sweet tooth.

The future exists at dawn,
and by dusk I see myself.
As I reflect in the mirror,
all I see are blemishes
that reveal nothing new.

I’ll dream tonight,
distorting memory,
and because of morning’s sense of humour,
I’ll never forget
where I am.

All the while never knowing
who I am.