Fore Day

Fore Day

i do not know what time of the day one would call it

it was about 2:30 AM

Grammy would call it

Fore Day in the Morning

i stood in what i thought to be the silence

of the still crisp morning to come

the only sounds i heard

was the wind

as it played upon the Drums of my ears

in passing

and my thoughts

i realized it was time to write

i could hear a small inner voice

beckoning me

as a reckoning came upon my spirit

and i could lucidly hear it

writing is my life line

it is the means by which i remember

and maintain contact

to that place my empirical self

struggles so hard to forget

at times

and as i exact this code of communication

in communion

with the distant fading memories

i remember that i am more

and as i open the door

once again

to spend some time

indwelling

allowing the telling

of things

i escape

and am given leave

from the chains i willingly

lock around the ankles of my salvation

liberation

and in deliberation

this all makes much too much sense

i stop and bow my head in silence

acknowledging the deadness

of time

of self

of empty dreams

with no sustentative reason

the ones with no appeasing value

of how you

and i can escape

forever

i grasp the pen of my doom

as it reveals to me the looming truths

that stand upon the corners of my consciousness

displaying their uncouth

means of shock therapy

that hopefully i will awaken

fully and come to the cognitive position

that my dereliction is self made

and here i am sitting in the shade

with a spiritual lemonade

instead of embracing the light

in this night

morning

before the dawning of this new day

that Grammy called Fore Day

© 30 March 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.