No Repartee…

Should the question come

The answer would find me mute

For long have I teetered on the fragile cob-web I traverse..

Faces around smile or nod in their passing

All the while blind to the visions

I can see..

Living on the fringe

Between this and that


There dwells no explanation

And for certain none that I would give..

The churning of an abstract mind

Is purely how some were born

To live…

Copyright © Murrsma 2015


Echoes In Print….

A stack of yellowed pages

Remnants left behind

I try to piece the story there

I try to read your mind..

Brittle now and time worn

Words blur in ancient ink

I puzzle through what made you tick

As back in time I sink..

Your voice precisely written

Though meant for different ears

Has echoed through the ages

Well past your living years…

Copyright © Murrsma 2015


From whose pre-conceived fantasy has she sprung..


So long drowning in oblivion, having sipped unmindful

from the sweetly offered quenching of Lethe’s enticing flow,

down through Hypnos…


lost to all thoughts in painted delusions


displacing all once truly knowns with fabrications

of a now soggy mind…

From what whim has life again come

the filmy shroud enfolding her stagnant form peeled away

by some kind notion…

that dormant lungs may re-wake

drawing in once more

the clean breath of…New…