The Sleepy Watchman

Any clang or clatter
Is what my mind used to sound like
On a drive on a dark night
Through the places of my old home.
I don't speak for ghosts;
Fractures featured by small changes,
Used to be, has not, now is my home.
Wonder what the nights
Will turn me into this time...

Felt a warm wind pour over me.
Found a keepsake seemingly misplaced.
Turn it round my hand, I wind.
Pouring over in a semblance of divine.
Look to you, my butterfly.
Look and stare and long to answer
Exactly why. Attraction, action, reply.

This town made me wretched.
Kicked the life out of me
In good measure, I'd say.
Picked out a place for all my dismay.
But the boy is a calm soul.
Might watch too long
But the feelings are strong
Enough to will against my control.

I surrender.
Bow down under the changing weather.
Give me meaning.
Show that I am starting to believe.
What was once again can be.
I release.
Yours to be, to touch, I feel it, motion
Form and breathing...
This was one so performed
To increase.

The epic struggle of our lives
Is riddled with moments, rhythm, change.
You are you perpetual forward,
Caught inside a cyclone,
Motion for a pace of peace in line
With what you've always had in mind.