He wore a jacket of mystery
and there was nothing more
than making those
distract me said she
it was a yes she heard
and she waited
you seem to be a busy distraction said she
and she knew 'busy' was a light lie she was telling herself
Lined up like stones filled with tears
Moving toward the resting place
Between the lines of others
And for once the world looked as my whole world had been.
Maybe time could transform the remaining strands of affection into cobwebs, if not entirely sweep them away.
Your laugh was the same. Your embrace was still warm. You still moved with the slight air of being lost.
But then I noticed your hands.
They were masked with a foreign ruggedness, sprinkled with dark follicles. Those very hands that had become so familiar with my body had become so unfamiliar to my eyes.
The hand of Time had send me colliding into the face of Reality.
The mind is a scary place.
Undocumented, ever changing, always going.
My biggest fear is The Thought of life-changing magnitude, will slip through the cracks of distraction.
The key to happiness,
lost in the lock.
The wave of change,
shadowed by the sea.
The perfect words,
If happy poets existed, maybe I’d be one.
Spinning lyrical thoughts from the threads of imagination
A charmed life of expression.
If quotists were real, maybe I’d be one.
To live forever in notebooks and Post Its on mirrors
Spitting out record worthy lines
If artists made money, maybe I’d be one.
In this world of intangible ideals, producing tangible creativity
Exploring the human condition
Until then, I feed my pages the content of my mind in hopes of some release.