Circular Tides

Oranges at midnight sweeten the encroaching darkness.
In the bowl on the table, fragrant and enticing they rest.
Reminders of poincianas and frangipani trees,
On the fragile south wind, a desultory breeze.

The years slip by like drunken promises,
Forgotten in the morning like stolen kisses,
Lingering hangovers, wasted days, mental doldrums.
Words lost forever, blurred by sweet Caribbean rum.

A Margaritaville dream, turned to ashes,
In the mirror, self-realization crashes.
A stranger stares back with empty eyes,
Out of excuses, tangled up in lies.

Like the tin man, without a heart, hollow inside,
Emotionally bankrupt from too much of a good time.
Chasing a dream that had already died,
Overpriced like Key Lime Pie.

Stripped of pretensions, bare to the bone,
Out of confusion, all roads lead home.
Sanctuary, when you least expect it,
Haven from the usual suspects.

Paradise is not all that it seems,
Falling far short of the stuff of dreams.
A glittering illusion of sunsets and seas
Not to be taken too seriously.