The Blunders

The Blunders are guests in this house

who live all around me

They touch my hair

They stroke my hands

but mostly they just rattle around

like a marble in a tin can

alerting my soldier mind

of their forage into my territory

Often, they come in the dark

in dreams

strange allegories blended

with the pinpoints of stars

and wisps of smoke and dew

as hard as I might try

I cannot get them to leave

They are embroidered on my clothes

and often sneak beneath my skin

The older I get the more annoying

they become

all of them are the child's mind

I once possessed

when I'd just as soon forget

them at the side of a country road

an unwanted pet wandering

without the love of family

Oh, don't think of me as cruel

they have taught me morality

patience of thought and deed

the importance of passing time

and distant colors I'd thought were gray

but come back to blaze

through my thoughts

fires burning out of control

I only want doused

but no, they don't put out

they put me out and I am annoyed

by their constant caresses

Copyright 2012 (c) by Barry G. Wick