Journal of a Spaced-Out Brain -poetry-

We glimmer for moments in time,
Away we fade to gray haze,
We count on tomorrow though fallow,
As if living in oceans of days.

Convections in thin atmosphere,
Smoke signals in life's ether,
Though fallow we count on tomorrow,
And drizzle away in our leisure.

Life fades like fall's morning mist,
Vapor forming no droplets,
We count on tomorrow though fallow,
Temporary plumes the ozone forgets.

We seem liquid-but life's made of steam,
No velum contains our air,
Though fallow we count on tomorrow,
A rift of hope in the fog of prayer.

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