Aslan’s Table

A poem

Another shift to a lost dimension — Words invisibly linger without processing the conclusion.

Have I become this bankrupt to ideas?

When the schedule demands no clogs or pauses some things go sacrificed.

I have painted and engraved words upon Aslan’s table.

The torn nostalgia tends to bellow in such times as these when I stare out at rippling water and an abundance of blossoms, I only have three minutes to see.

The peaceful calm before the storm radiates with temptation. And all around voices chant and deliver disturbances and reminders.

My mind has become jello for the cause and I need no applause, or sigh,

just the common oxymoron that goes along with goodbye.