what the view

I go out, 

at the halloween part of every day,

masquerading as know-how,

hoping to get personal growth in return.

at the Christmas part of every morning,

I have expectations

for what is to come,

hoping that the gifts of the day, exchanged,

are rewarding and mutually appreciated.

my noons are for solemn basking

in a silent conversation with the sun.

we are all hydrogen addicts,

therefore nobody is at fault.

I personally live for sunsets,

the ballet of soul searching clouds,

and the hope of a green flash,

when ocean is my lower eyelids.

but sunrises for me,

are the stampede of the day,

as lumens of the sun on a rush, westward.

I am there for the blitz or the surge,

as the outcomes of sightedness 

with ambivalent protests 

from my otherwise nighttime blindness. 

yet these images are imploring

as visual gossip overheard by perception.

otherwise each moment 

is kittens of mindfulness restlessly attending.

there is curiosity and noisiness that abounds.

earth gravity is downward demanding

but self gravity is forward focused,

blindly plunging into next moment's

sea of awareness, 

in the wash-overs occurring.

I am there,

pretending to be the light house of self,

the land base of sensibilities, 

the author of this read,

but not the write

and to whom, 

am I telling this story too? . . .