by Thomas Piekarski
No don’t stress
you can’t know
what constitutes
consciousness
so just abide
clearest visions
materializing
in plain sight
and block out
the torment
that permeates
this world’s
massive mind.
As advertised
life goes on
anonymously
so perchance
you welcome
puffy clouds
observing you
that might be
heaven sent
and you now
flying high or
digging deep
into dreams
desirous of
escape from
anxiety that
stifles people
sea to sea.
Fathom love
so true it hurts
that the heart
return to Earth
from its lofty
flawless nest
where paradise
seems infinite
and the wild
parrots sing
with swans.
***
Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His poetry has appeared in such publications as The Journal, Poetry Salzburg, Modern Literature, The Museum of Americana, South African Literary Journal, and Home Planet News. His books of poetry are Ballad of Billy the Kid, Monterey Bay Adventures, Mercurial World, Aurora California, and Opus Borealis.
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