Ya Shaykh
Horizons seem to expand
into lands that dreams are made
from, as past disappointments
fade toward forgetfulness.
Possibilities fuel my
heart’s soul with high octane hope
that helps me cope with doubts that,
like vampires, feed off the night.
Moonbeams lead down a strange way
to spaces where some say light
of the sun may rise
in reflected, human form.
Ready to abandon all
that preceded this moment,
a sought-for future calls me
to embrace uncertainty.
Yearning haunts the halls of time
where I have learned to deal with
the problems through which real men
taunt my desire to transcend.
Shallow surfaces deceive;
misdirection is a key
to the magic that is spun
around one’s eyes, ears, and mind.
I only ask for the truth
But they are ruthless with words
which wrap events in pretty
packages like bait on hooks.
My fate wobbles in between
what is said and done by those
fully mesmerized with one
who remains a mystery.
"We write our own stories," he
said, which makes me wonder why
someone would betray essence
in such calculated ways.
"I never lie," is a phrase
that falls from his lips like quips
of a politician who
rarely speaks with honesty.
Wishing that the myth had been
more than an empty promise,
my heart spins on with the task
of seeking what it asks.
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