The morning crawls
Though the sunlit stage
And slips into the dusk
The mornings slip
To ink blotched memory
Dripping though the staging's cracks
What if this is memory?
A musky string of history?
And what if stage right and if stage left were one?
I walk on the mountain high sky
And I wish all my friends goodbye
As I trek the heavens to find a soul
That will with all my flaws comply.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
The morning crawls
Though the sunlit stage
And slips into the dusk
The mornings slip
To ink blotched memory
Dripping though the staging's cracks
What if this is memory?
A musky string of history?
And what if stage right and if stage left were one?
I walk on the mountain high sky
And I wish all my friends goodbye
As I trek the heavens to find a soul
That will with all my flaws comply.
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