Lie me down upon this blanket of stars,
That I may rest this weary head upon a fold of time.
Ancient am I as the day is long,
Upon this sunset hour must I now take up my dust and walk.
For are we not all stardust?
As was told before so now remind us again.
We are but infinite moments of time,
Opening ways to endless paths once, twice, and never trod.
Ever shifting in the tide of reality,
But who’s and why?
Ask no more of this slothful wanderer,
I am done and awaiting my due.
But lo, I can taste the salt of your tears,
I might abide the fuss of one bloom to the next.
Speak now and let me hear your woe,
To listen is best a salve for any wound of the soul.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.
