Rucksack of Make Believe

My rucksack of make believe

Is soon to run out,

But for now I will spend.

The day has been long,

The evening tired,

And the lonely night

Needs some food to sleep.

I don't live alone,

But with a breathing void,

Who just speaks and speaks

But is never really heard.

I don't sleep alone,

But with a breathing silence,

Who is felt and always felt

But never really warm.

The silent void breathes 

As the night tries to feed,

But never a morsel does it eat.

Hungry it remains awake

And tries in vain to speak.

Yet it screams, it is loud,

But what more I hear is,

How that silent void

You have left behind, breathes.

There's no more left to spend,

It's all run out, it's empty-

My rucksack of make believe.

Alight

Two Buds've Flowered, All Around is Alight,
'Oh! You up? It's a Good Morning, alright!'

A Speck

The sky is peopled by gentle giants,
White towering nimbuses, sailing
On the air to destinations unknown,
The forest called out in birdsong,
Beckoning Man to walk through it again,
As He had done for eons, eons ago.
The trees bore witness to this,
Standing tall, resolute, selfless,
In their verdant, bountiful benevolence,
As they breathed life into us all.
The flowers burst forth as if
They were the trees' and plants' smiles-
Bright, joyous, fragrant and sweet.
The rushing river bubbled forth
To its own babbling tune, onward
To lose herself in her oceanic paramour.
Above it all, beamed down the Sun,
Lounging in his heavenly rocking chair,
Smiling as a grandfather would,
Upon his thriving grandchildren.

Within it all, is Me-
An inconsequential speck,
Within a speck in,
The inconceivable vastness of,

The Cosmos.