joy is fleeting, an academic one,
like colors in words, or the flavor of summer.
a hushed lull, ever gentle breathing,
propeller of hopes, up, hovering over petals;
a floating kingdom of bones and abstraction.
loneliness is a place for moonlight dwellers:
risk takers, and ambitious,
like waddling feet hanging off a cliff
carry tales and stories and you won't find it.
but baring phantom bruises is a sure pass.
pride, a vertebral thing, essential to my being,
a path i chose.
honor, a glittering sun that i think is vital,
a path not taken, but inherited.
these are the bones that hold me together.
time will eventually catch up to me
only if i don't catch it first.
im always only seconds late,
but misses thousands of frames.
so doubt, after all, is inevitable.
i have to cut my hair shorter,
because i have that choice.
but why can't i paint my face
a nice, warm smile
when im possessive of my choices?
i build these blocks that always tumbles over
every time i get close to making it a reality
it's a winning game, until it isn't, until it is.
sheltered within the waves of procrastinated
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 7:14 AM UTC
joy is fleeting, an academic one,
like colors in words, or the flavor of summer.
a hushed lull, ever gentle breathing,
propeller of hopes, up, hovering over petals;
a floating kingdom of bones and abstraction.
loneliness is a place for moonlight dwellers:
risk takers, and ambitious,
like waddling feet hanging off a cliff
carry tales and stories and you won't find it.
but baring phantom bruises is a sure pass.
pride, a vertebral thing, essential to my being,
a path i chose.
honor, a glittering sun that i think is vital,
a path not taken, but inherited.
these are the bones that hold me together.
time will eventually catch up to me
only if i don't catch it first.
im always only seconds late,
but misses thousands of frames.
so doubt, after all, is inevitable.
i have to cut my hair shorter,
because i have that choice.
but why can't i paint my face
a nice, warm smile
when im possessive of my choices?
i build these blocks that always tumbles over
every time i get close to making it a reality
it's a winning game, until it isn't, until it is.
sheltered within the waves of procrastinated
Request permission to use this poem