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.
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