PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My path is but a hope and a beginning; 
The dream that sustains me, my salvation. 
In such a manner do I become absorbed 
Into the pattern of wandering migration. 
I am a flower with a root, travelling solo 
Into the submission of the earthbound. 
Vanishing smiles bubble over into foam 
Of tragic moments from love drowned. 
I sigh in hope that this outward sign 
Might suggest a method for survival. 
But no, the teeter-totter of glaring trouble 
Only promises to be even more sublime. 
Sometimes I yearn to burst the bubble 
Of failing words that have not pleased. 
Outward bound, maybe I'll find messages 
From grief-stricken strangers in a crowd. 
In this way I'll be able to place perspective 
On solitary positions whispered quite loud. 
Don't expect me to answer the doorbell, 
For I shall be hiding in wooden frowns. 
No matter which march I use to walk 
I shall be as impotent as a lingering clown. 
I shall astound the masses with my meaning, 
Which shall be as important as dirt underwater. 
Nothing shall ever open my heart again 
To the expectant sowings of the slaughter. 
Let me sleep away my point of experience. 
There are not enough pillows on the couch 
To define my shape of the hole in my thoughts. 
And as I listen to the bells, I can only vouch 
For the hollow rocks that shatter reality.