The slippery scales of passing time
snake through the tall grass of my fertile mind,
tipping the balance between dreams and reality
as I search for the essence of a writer’s life.
For life must be more than simple breathing,
and leaping through years with eyes closed,
or abiding by the rules that society imposes
And I’ll not follow the blind mice masses
nor will I be a conforming ‘normal’ soul.
As for me I’ll continue to shush
through tall fragrant fields of dried grass
a lioness, searching for a tempting feast
on which to dull harsh reality’s teeth
that bite into the very heart of me.
With hope I’ll find what I’m searching for
in dried stalks of swaying ochre wheat
and above in the green sea of flickering stars
or when October’s sanguine hunter’s moon
Shines its mysterious red light on me.
©2021 Linda Lee Lyberg
DVerse Poets Pub: Poetics- Surrealism in Poetry
Author’a Note: Come join us at dVerse where I am hosting Poetics tonight!