Waltz with a Morning Glory
Mysteries inhaling within the dim mind,
magpies crowd upon the rotting dead.
Redwoods reaching in a forest of bark,
balanced upon the edge of new dread.
Bow your head in a solemn reverence
as pious thoughts bleed unto the soul.
Finding your way in a Cave of Hades,
or live life through a crystal fish bowl.
Shaking your head at an ignited spark;
9 volt battery to the tip of your tongue;
will shake a faithless nerve to tears;
touch once again and see the ellipse.
Leaning on a fence near a lighted pole,
a long sip of whisky brings home, "Sorry."
Screaming fantasy, or an alcoholic dream.
Think I'll just Waltz with a Morning Glory.
(Initial Publication by www.thepoetcommunity)