landscapes of interior spaces.
Just languidly walking through
them, seeing sights that no one
else can see.
Transposing images as they
saunter to rhythms of slowened
remorse.
Sending messages into the
atmosphere to be held for a
while and then tenderly being
let go to wander wayward shores
of eternity.
now having and takingthe time to completethem in senior days ofblissful idleness.
Images pop out like notes on a banjo, picked just formy mind, over a delightful dinner for two.Beats and musical notes scenting the evening air withhappier tunes and melodies.
Fantasizing, daydreaming, images come into developingminds with expressions, tones of voice and love.Grandparents are blessings in the lives of their grandchildren, passing on traditions to keep theirembers aglow through the years, hereditarily.
Leaving me desolate and withouthope from this moment forward.
alluring and tempting my fancies onwayward tunes of tomorrow’s shores.Touching beats with my heart as theyflow in unison downstream, awaitingtheir fruitful renditions of thought.
Traipsing talently into steps of desire provided by interior motives of excellent wisdom.
