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  Apr 2015 Blake Smith
Paul M Chafer
Even at my age,
I see mountainous lands in the sky,
Languishing among towering clouds,
A lofty empire, lost kingdoms,
Perhaps a strange magical realm,
Thriving with dwarves and giants,
Maidens in towers awaiting rescue,
Where lone horse warriors wander,
Maybe observing us, far below.

Must be a poetic creative thing,
Or simply the child deep within,
Viewing through the eyes of the man,
Dreaming ancient days of long ago,
When the child yearned to be grown,
To know all there is to know,
Never appreciating escapism,
The chance to drift within time,
Ponder upon distant, aerial, worlds.

Or maybe I’m just a dreamer,
That and nothing more, hmm,
Telling myself, I am a poet,
A procrastinating creative spirit,
In love with the trappings of art,
The child asleep within wisdom,
Languishing among towering clouds,
I see mountainous lands in the sky,
Even at my age.

©Paul M Chafer 2015
Inspired by the poem ‘A Procession Of Days’ and dedicated to fellow visionary, friend and poet, W L Winter.
Blake Smith Apr 2015
Why search for an identity?
You can live without one, right?
False.

Living is not synonymous with time moving forward while you
haven’t moved a single muscle.
Time runs even if you have no identity
but life? It can’t start until you’ve found one.

On a day when everyone puts their identities on display
I am left out of the exhibit
“Sorry,” says the museum, “but I only want art that has meaning.”
and I suppose that’s fair…

Yet as fair as it may be, I still want to be a part of the museum
I want to be able to present myself proudly with the other brilliant
works of art

Tick. Tick. Tick.
When Time passes by the museum my heart skips a beat
because one day he could decide to shut the establishment down
before I’ve had my chance.

On a spectrum commonly interpreted as binary
where will I fall?
Am I plummeting towards my identity or my death?

An army of questions are ready to fight
and the little clue I have stands no chance.
so I pull him back and I keep him close
and acquaint him with good ol’ mr. Time.

It’s fine that I’m frozen
Now that I know
that patient time
is helping my little clue grow!
Blake Smith Feb 2015
Looking at the sun

My eyes burn in amazement
Like when I see you

— The End —