Fore Thoughts

Peace of mind; an ebbing tide.

Expect nothing and the tide will rise,

As if the moon had puffed its chest,

swelled with pride; ego subside.

 

Dreaming is a brave endeavor.

A fall may work out in your favor,

To lift you from a road miss-taken,

An avenue of tortured labor.

 

Hold true to thine own self in earnest.

A decrescendo playing to unrest,

As calloused fingertips along bass strings,

gently pluck; a melody burnished.

 

Drive the plow into hardened ground,

As four king oxen; muscled, crowned.

The yoke will be your greatest teacher.

Reap fields of great resound.

 

©2024 Mark Fulton

Done