Night Porter

Wee rowan lad
drums me into night
a fabled rhythm
conjuring mystical
oneiric encounters

There is freedom
in dreaming
slipping ego’s hold
soul taking flight

There is sorrow too
for when the drummer’s
song is done
morning must come.

(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)


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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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