Wandering Tides

Shadows dart over uneven ground,

Wisps of ill wind in a world of the sick.

Dark clouds fly by like great black war hounds

Chasing the gears that make the world tick.

The clock on the wall watches the world,

The future, the present and past.

Going by like flashes of light

In a storm that was not made to last.

Stability of consciousness,

Or so says the demon of thought,

Is a colour of spirit without hidden tone

And the eternal can only be sought.

Through the tidal and steady, the bridal unready,

The waves of pure hatred and lust

Drift a small kind of soul, the peaceful and droll

That just walk ‘twixt the low and the dusty.