11:11

 

It’s that time of day when I hear a voice.

Socrates called it a daemon,

his ‘internal oracle’ – his demon?

a higher self?

divided mind?

we let our conscience be our guide,

but where do our earthly thoughts reside?

My guardian angel keeps time,

my muse whispers till I turn,

turn around and tune it in,

stop the clock, this minute,

now.

Tricia Sankey

Posted in Poetry, UncategorizedTagged philosophy, poetry