Cajun Secrets

I crave knowledge and its reciprocal,
The difference between the feigned and literal.

Neutral in the path of shadow and esteem,
Dignity just a fringe, a passing daydream.

Autumn plumage reveals itself to its world,
Waiting for its limbs and leaves to wake and uncurl.

Ecstasy is exfoliating as moonlight creeps out,
Opening its pleasures and wonders to me in vouch.

Jars and cracked cans of various commodities,
In the back of a wooden shack, among other oddities.

My hermit hole, my retreat and harbor of refuge,
Along a vine plagued wood of sun kissed Baton Rouge.

Seas of ravage and insatiable hunger bash with pique,
As I contemplate away, ego curtailed with lust and streak.

I’ve gathered infinite amounts of conjectures,
Such as how the wit of charm trumps a well-thought lecture.

I’ve captured these surmises in the cans and jars.
They glow yellow like passing suns and weak stars.

They sit on the back shelf of my shed, theories revitalized with revisits.
Never opened, dust gathering like lichen, wisdom there only to inhibit.

I pay my dues, to either remember or contribute, to the shelf,
Which grows bolder in spirit, much like myself.

And these vivid images of seasons,
Dripping with reason,
Only put me in the mood to learn more.