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