I once had this foolish idea that I could write poetry. Here's proof of that foolishness:

With Eyes Close, Visions Come

by

Earl T. Roske

With eyes closed, visions come

The day, the week, the month

Angry seas that rise up

Crashing like mighty waves

Upon the stoic cliffs;

The bulwarks of my mind.

Thoughts, twisted, swish and slap

Like torn and battered sails

No longer able to contain the wind.

Through the dark curdling clouds

Calming light comes upon me

And burst upon my mind

I am directed then

To a vision of you.

Calm winds and seas begin.

Thoughts point like a compass

Directing me clearly

And my eyes open to calm and to you.