Cycle of Contentment and Desires 169

With harvest moon comes bloated joy
Contentment on its highest peak,
My basket full of ripened dreams
Of desires picked and trees stripped bare.

When come the full moon night,
barren trees and worn out dreams
The basket lighter than the wind,
Empty but filled with anxious want.

With new seeds contentment dies
burns a hole in wooden weave,
Weight of unheeded prayers
Leaves behind a desperate stench.

Forgotten are the good and fulfilled,
I launch onto another road,
In shoes made from leftover gold,
Winter gone and Spring arrives.

With grass moon comes bloated joy
Contentment on its highest peak,
My basket full of ripened dreams
Of desires picked and trees stripped bare.

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More is Less? (67)

The real you isn’t enough,
a sailor must be fearless, strong,
slightly drunk,
sing many songs.
Just human is never good enough,
a priest must be faithful, perfect,
bit naive,
pray many prayers.
Perfection is an imperfection
top is blinding and deceptive,
always best,
even as the last.

When there’s nothing more to give,
What more do you expect:
false pretense?
Slice of heaven on moldy bread?

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