Make me a day, where Mercy follows
my mournful despair,
where time of yesterday is brought to die
where words of bygone days are flying
in the howling storm, twisted,
untwisted like a serpent
ready to bite.

Where the mind will climb, refreshing
In the languishing intimacy
of intelligence known of,
where the skin of the hands
is renewed to caress the
weakened soul
slightly feeble-minded.

Make me a day, where to bury sorrows
where to let go of all mistakes done,
assenting to guard the matters that care
deep into the marrow bones,
in the bleeding of tears,
from too much of pain quenched
in distress and emotions.

Make me that day, where Visions follow
the dreams, newly spun in happy deeds,
where agreements are formed upon purism
undressed to nudity,
and sheer calamity is punctured
by clean thoughts, an awareness,
the untouchable wisdom of yourself.

December 2015 ©k.c.