To cascade into oblivious peace,
with thoughts of only what is home.
A concession for the blindest eyes,
Speaks colours to a soul of stone.
What's relevant? Intelligent?
Common sense is elegant?
How hope is so benevolent,
or is it left irrelevant?
So thoughts of insecurity
or negative impurity,
That somehow seem to glue to me,
should all depart, farewell. (When I am home)
Into bliss, I miss, the elusive obvious kiss,
of what it's worth, all this,
but that's how lost I am.
Though it's in my aura,
flows in my nature,
a nocturnal creature sooner or later,
has to see the light, one night,
of his water welcoming Liverpool home.
By Gary Watson