The world of Expectations

Expectations, do – in all likelihood – become frustrations.

They, in their painful anger, do become manipulations,

of both – both the aching heart and the fragile soul

and of the one’s you seem to want to know

and would prefer to show

So, what one must do , is set them free, let them go

so that the seeds, one needs, in order to sow,

might have a chance – into something – grow.

Expectations, therefore laden the load, hamper creation,

making for uncertainties and difficulties in any situation.

WORDS

Words fly upon gossamer wings of invisible angles,

from sources of universal / internal, unseen energy,

to and through the fragile tips of my crystalline,

clear fingers, like specks of light, fireflies

out of the darkness of my mind, to light up,

- in shades of gray or rainbow colours, bright -

the empty spaces that wait to be filled.

Those pieces, - eight and a half by eleven – of paper,

pages I write, - for the sight of others – of shadows

that are cast upon the retinas of the minds that look,

upon, read, see, understand the essence of this old man.

Dawning of this day has come to us in untarnished,

Salvador Dalí, blues, chaperoned by a blinding glow

– that bright, life sustaining, golden orb radiating down –

giving light to this early mornings life, life in this tiny,

portion of this great blue planet – my multi coloured tomb,

my four cornered room, where loony size orbs , of violet,

indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red orbit, slither,

– in their cloak of rainbow colours – these coloured comets,

their tails streaking  across, upon, all-around an ocean

of material objects, objects of historical value,

objects – a visual representations of , pages of my history

basking in the light of beautifully coloured flakes of rainbows,

drifting, rainbow specks, coloured splotches splashed across

the eggshell white bars of this prison I sometimes inhabit,

this tiny little universe washed in history and colours.

This beautifully coloured day was brought to me by crystals,

chipped at – pieces cut away by the hands of artisans –

by the hand of man to allow light – white and clear –

to be refracted, reflecting, releasing to sight, that which

the human eye is unable to comprehend, to see.

Rainbows filled my day – too bad they could not stay.

Then again, that would be asking to much, isn’t that the way ?

 

B. J. “A ” 2

October 27^th 2002