अंकल अल Nineteen

The sun drops down to a hollow place
Somewhere between heaven and Earth
The realm of spirits sequestered in transition
Silently waiting in muted tones
Time falls silent, clocks stop
Free falling in plush memories
Words join hands like children
Sentences roll out like a bail of barbed wire
Their points caught up on kinks of thought
Bottomless pits of meaning
Fill the black and white landscapes
Sculpted from verbal ash
Temples of wisdom reflect
Reflect in the waters of memories persistence
All roads lead to this

Passion's heat shimmers from wisdom's asphalt
It's mirage fools the mind's eye
Words bloom against the verbal ash
Lava blossoms mar it's perfection
The heat beads sweat of distant lands
A riddle in each bead of sweat
Begging questions without answer
Seeds of your wisdom Uncle Al
Seeds you planted in me from another beyond
You guide my pen in tea house ritual
It's perfection in simplicity
It's simplicity perfection
Word weary and put up hard
You mold the clay of a changing landscape
All roads lead to this

Like a Nova Star your words burn bright
Against the endless sea of bottomless thought
Your guide my pen through a personal journey
Training wheels of thought soon to come off
Your landscape of imagery ungulates
Colors fade in a sea of neon flux
Your place within the poet's last supper
Marked by words on a well worn bag
Brown paper faded into the table's depths
They wait for you, the seven fates
To take your place among the elders
Those you've known, those you don't
From the ash of sullen empty words
A flower of solitary thought blooms
All roads lead to this