Prayerful imaginings display
enticing promises,
in a realm of
forgetfulness, despair
and pain.

Escape beckons me
to flee, to be free
from confines.....
bars from my own
personal prison.

Despondently, I brood
over infantile matters
of little consequence.

The triviality of my desires
which pale in comparison
to world affairs.

My heavy heart
yearns to be light,
soaring like a kite
on the wind.

I know...no one,
no thing, can help me
escape lifes' vulgarities,
So I wander to a field
of flowers, of mountain streams
of love, in my imagination.

kay ekwall ©1999