Along the the beach
With skies coated grey
And a feeling of brooding
Sentimental reasons,
   The feeling of today
Gathered inside and repeated
Itself to me,
A walk through the wind
And the familiar ripple
Of my wind breakers
Whisp in the air,
   A familiarity rolls over me
And a sordidness of recollections
Flowers like a lukewarm
Spring day only half way
Flowering,
   Still waiting I trek into thoughts;

  I met once with fingernails
Adorned in a slobbish black,
Dirt filled and a sigh,
    She spoke to me in her
College plaid joggers with a
Sweater bearing another school,
  And we spoke of the dirt,
Simply and plain of how it
Had gotten there.
   And working in dirt
Brought a great day into
My life,
   Oh lover of words and
A philosophy of conversation,
   How the wind wept that day,
And the familiar greys peeking out,
   Unspoken yet here today
Sneaking in a familiar
Resonance,
    Today is today again,
A hint that this will be yesterday
Too.

There is a natural melancholy
To this season,
The departing leaf
And it's burnt graces
Of a cool wind that chills
The Aloness inside,
   Songs seem to fall away
From birds,
   Here there is hope in
The fleeting moments,
A promise of cold
And the warmth of Winter's
    Insisted grasp.

I marked my heart
with scars and blemishes
some of today and some of tomorrow
Oh how time flies
once I was a dreamer
now hopelessly dead,

I had the strength to seek
the power to interpret and analyze things
the willingness to feel the pain and sorrow of others
but now all that fades away
once blessed to feel emotions
now cursed- emotionless,

Deceit and heartbreak
decayed all that was around
heart once so loving and soft
perished everything one by one
changing not perceptions
but also me on the way.

There is no time
As you time passes through
Eye's perpetual needle
And a basic understanding,
      There are no seasons
That resonate forms and certain
Needs,
   There is not enough time
For anger and happinesses,
Only that it remains equal
In the chaos of a a hurried
Mind,
   A flutter into tornadic
Expressions,
A desire into a yearning fire,
Indirectly the season gives
A feel,
The cold winter she walked
Into the wind and her hair did
Not move, time does not beat
There, but arches into
A future,
    That summer the sweat
Off your brow bought the car
Of a dream in a dream,
   Carefully time snuck by
And perfected a moment's
Theory,
    A man needs both time and
Stillness to recognise that
All is fleeting,
And the only thing real
Is the mist,
In the mist
A temporal moan.

A regards to the singlular
Chaos,
But life dwelling is not a
Trek alone:

   I forecast order in a feminine
Touch that clouds the menacing
Aloness,
That order feminine
Which will throw away old
Things lukewarm in my
Memory,
The old cup that barely bears
The insignia of my team,
An order feminine which will
Prearrange all the chaos
And let me fill it's orders,
A space all my own,
A dusty garage
And all the feminine order
Will not follow me there,
But direct like a good woman
Does pushing behind every man.

An oder feminine like the sweet
Smelling home she scents
As with everything she touches,
    The chaos will never truly
Die,
It will slumber and awaken a few times a week,
An occasional game and fire and meat,
And filling in the time
Between the spaces,
An order feminine
Diguises a brute and differs
Into a man.