Friday Poem: Strange

Written at a time of confusion, on a day when I was listening to Frank Black and the Catholics, and reading the wise words of the Dalai Lama, this poem is me looking for the way, not around, but through…I seemed, as ever, just on the verge of something, about to enter something new…

Little master
Wait for me
The world is strange
And no stranger
With or without you

Little master
Whatever happens
Wait for me
Attached or detached
To you or from you

Little master
I still know nothing
Wait for me

Little master
Precious master
I’m coming through
Frank Black and the Dalai Lama
Will open another door

Wait for me.


Truth is, life changes every day,  and we never can know what that is we think we glimpse through the doorway of tomorrow.

And that’s OK.