Tired Dreams

The collapsible wooden chair
Sits lonely by the ravaging sea.

Blue-green froth emancipate from within
The reef flowing with seaweed of brownish hue.

And the big, pink, hollow sea shell,
Cracked by rough stones and bleached by the sun,

Still holding the secret voice of the North Wind,
Is waiting to be heard by a weak, sensible and innocent ear.

The frustrated Ego then decides to let go.
He accompanies the collapsible wooden chair, no longer forlorn.

The Ego's tired, bloodshot eyes
Notice the blemished pink shell from afar.

He stoops down real low to pick it up.
Hesitation commands him to do not what he means to.

The Ego, armed with non-belief for the inevitable
Chucks the old, worn-out shell into the gloomy, fearsome ocean.

It sinks down to the bottom, where reality does not exist.
The voice of the North Wind muffled by loud sirens of fair beauty.

The Ego, still an Ego, walks away with a satisfied heart.
The collapsible chair sits lonely again.

-March 4, 2002- -
1:00 PM-