Poem 4 by Dan Allen

Body
My hand touches the lute
While my straying mind seeks fringe distractions to
fill the void
Even the music I play
Strays the truth into an eerie forest
Where pleasant colored plants hold wonderful
fruits
Truth looms close
It aches for its awakening While I fight mysterious
battles
unable to know who the enemy is
Tortured flesh
Saddened, aging, vessel
I bind myself to you, through these uneasy nights
and days
I demand your pleasures I want your delights
I sleep in your senses