Foggy early morning,
Tread lightly,
On a bridge of sorrow.
Decide,
Up
Or
Down.
Follow the stream.
Freshly motivated,
Wary grey eyes float
Reflect on
Where we’ve been
Where we are going.
The black dog
Watches from the woods.
A symbol,
Poetry of my stories,
Flying.
Imagination is within,
Chasing the moon,
As galaxies gyrate.
Quench my spirit
In ambrosia
Of
Existential thirst.
Thanks for reading,
Ernest
When My Worlds Collide 