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jordan-p-sandersPoems
Our routine entwines filaments of comfort Finely woven between gaps of unoccupied time My hands wrinkle with the loss of my youth Cracks and flakes of dryness and Future I am only 23, but my soul says otherwise My fingernails grow like tree branches I cut them down and use them as swords Battling imaginary creatures who stalk my shadow Each victory harms my ego Each trophy an intangible farce Foreknowledge and foresight allowed me to forego certain forgotten ceremonies; I encounter them on the road to Manhood Avoiding each by traveling the dark impasse I cloak my yearning in a wool coat and a bright red scarf Bound by absurdity, I become the High Priest of Ritual Anointed with the experience of Curiosity’s fluid influence I wade in the shallow waters to catch my breath I see you walking on the pier, Pensive and lonely I am too late.
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Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
An Impasse
Our routine entwines filaments of comfort Finely woven between gaps of unoccupied time My hands wrinkle with the loss of my youth Cracks and flakes of dryness and Future I am only 23, but my soul says otherwise My fingernails grow like tree branches I cut them down and use them as swords Battling imaginary creatures who stalk my shadow Each victory harms my ego Each trophy an intangible farce Foreknowledge and foresight allowed me to forego certain forgotten ceremonies; I encounter them on the road to Manhood Avoiding each by traveling the dark impasse I cloak my yearning in a wool coat and a bright red scarf Bound by absurdity, I become the High Priest of Ritual Anointed with the experience of Curiosity’s fluid influence I wade in the shallow waters to catch my breath I see you walking on the pier, Pensive and lonely I am too late.
jordan-p-sanders
Written by
jordan-p-sanders
30/M/American
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
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