Fire-lit we see
the bliss that lay beneath the sea
for harmony is a shifter thing
a hope no mortal hands can bring—
that we, coddled in the blanket bliss
can only paddle glimpses soon to miss;
we lack the fins, the constitution
to see the ease be shunned.
Fireplace. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I would rest my faith against your breast
but human pace is never still
you’d bear me out into the glass
shattering with smiles and discontent
solitude’s press, its lonely words
–straight like a rock, to malcontent.
Strange little bird,
fluttering neither here nor there,
never living, never flocking,
even if we ever might so dare.
Sitting, cooing, drooling,
always thinking its the world he’s fooling.
The Waking Den 