I've always suspected I'm an alien.
Lately I figured out,
that I'm an earthling
lost in space.

Stroll with me under the trees
to where the old road bends,
at the hanging sycamores
then walk away
beyond my sight
for I cannot follow
do not turn back,
you have many miles to go
and new companions to meet
I will wait here, in the shade
tired feet need to rest
visit me now and again
when the leaves fall
but only in memory
walk on

lithe she floats
surface barely breaking
hard as wood, smooth as jade
yet light, a thing of burnished air
barely there
no thoughts to weigh her down
for she has ceased to care

you carry old baggage in straight suitcases
full of contrition’s contractions, each rosary bead spent
dragging sorrowful daggers of spite
pity self-pity’s pity, no others or places

killing softly with words, not deeds
psychic murders in poesy lines
each keystroke a slasher’s razor bleeds
disregarding tender hearts and rhyme

history’s ink well spill on your page
born-out to suffer blue outrage
sworn blind with fear of life’s gift
unwilling grace to heal this rift

-cec

Is it a state of mind,
to always stay behind when advancing?
To deliberately lose stephold when gaining ground.
Does it mean loss of an era when reaching a new beginning?