I woke too late, <br />saw great delusions of <br />democracy, <br />and bland reflections, <br />distorted <br />by the guiding light. <br />I longed for it, <br />the silence of the peace, <br />too soon I dreamed <br />in restless mode <br />about ice crystals <br />of my destiny. <br /> <br />It always does, this thing <br />called simple solitude <br />it twists my ventricles <br />expands a willing skull, <br />and makes me crazy, <br />eyes set apart, <br />the Hulk, it seems incredible, <br />a hue of green appears <br />Neanderthal my hands <br />and mesmerised my eyes. <br /> <br />A sound of human feet <br />on Spanish slate, <br />chiffon now falls away <br />and waits, for the duration. <br />I dream of garden patches, <br />of flowering petunias <br />and radishes with frosty heads <br />as mermaid fingers trace <br />each curly hair and at road's end <br />they fail to rest as would have been <br />clearly the normal thing to do. <br />Instead there is a breeze <br />of pure deception in the air <br />a velvet welcome wagon, <br />with open hatch, and which has lost <br />somewhere, sometime <br />its covering thatch, oh yeah.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-worked-late/
