By Mike O’Connell
each poem begins with
a title(perhaps)a welcome mat
unrolled before doors ajar
revealing strands of thought
connected by chance
where spirituality whispers
rather than shouts
the results of quiet
contemplation about the
nature of things with
no limits save those beyond
the thresholds where hints
of pathways glow in the
shadows of experience
where unfamiliar images
swallow knowledge regurgitate
discovery followed by exploration
of bobbing bits of truthiness
hard to follow sometimes
when they soar above the
writer giving chase
as best they can
asking for our help
a little guidance on the way
to prevent madness
from becoming message



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