Bitter Musing

~ Bitter Musing ~

The bitter taste,

the bitter taste of sour tea

I did not take the mean black, poignant gleam,

that shimmered in a whirring-circled, roiling stir,

and left me musing over its moor,

to take me back again where I love best,

where my heart can sing in sweet rapture,

where the birds glow and flit and cry,

their cadences, and I gently rest, with my hands splayed,

before the dynamics of them . . .

take me away from the sour taste,

the cold anchoring of my hands, upon-

it cruel distaste,

and burn me not, while I sit here and deeply ponder over its,

shimmering boil, hatred filled heat,

and the blackened tornado,

when the birds flit out of my minds eye,

and I become aware of my mooring, 'gain,

sitting and gently resting with the

seeing them in my minds eye,

as I listen to the cadences,

of a places that passes above me,

somewhere in my brain within me,

somewhere, somewhere I cannot see,

and the sounds finally fade,

filling me with nothing but this dark taste,

the flows along my tongue now burning,

trembling with the sour thought-

and deep distaste . . .