A WEEK OF DAYS

 

 

 

MONDAY:

I awaken from a bad dream

where I was sleeping in a cold room

and you were gone.

I awaken to a cold room

where I’ve been sleeping and I find

there is no one.

 

TUESDAY:

My legs have turned to jelly

and the river sparkles like a pool of iced lemonade,

the wind flutes its old tune melodically

as I head for the sun through the shade.

The leaves sing softly,

‘Welcome. Welcome to the world’s party’

 

WEDNESDAY:

Then are we led here

to these ruins of exclusion

because 

someone else

once felt those hand made wounds?

Deceived

by chapters of confusion

because 

someone else

once spelt those man made words?

 

THURSDAY:

Small minded people in big important cars,

filling tanks with fear of failure five star.

Basking on streets lined with envy.

A roof rack and boot fully laden up with ego

and a speed gauge that registers nought to minus zero.

 

FRIDAY:

But am I stood here,

With these leaves of utter silence,

just because

someone else

has spelt those jagged words?

Cheated,

by these sheaves of fluttered malice,

just because

something else

has dealt those ragged cards?

 

SATURDAY:

By your silence

I hear you.

By your absence

I see you.

Without essence

I know you.

 

SUNDAY:

No dogma…no god ma

no ransomed release.

No dharma or karma or

celestial drama but

stillness.

Silence.

Infinite peace.

 

 

 

 

Mike Mcnamara
Illustration Dai Owen


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