They say
  "A stitch in time
      Can tend to save you nine"
But it seems
   These seams
I tend
  To mend
      Have cost me
All of mine

Caught in the fold
   Just between the lines
         Where seams
Are more than seems
   And dreams
Are hung to dry
  The fabric of time
Just matter on the line

"Until an hour before the Devil fell..."
Yahweh and Lucifer got on so well,
God thought Archangels so beautiful,
God blessed each of you, so dutiful,
Lucifer, our light divine,
Now  fallen angel, out of time,
Evil love, Prince of Darkness,
Diablo Mephistopheles, no less,
Sad to say, Beezelbub runs Hell,
But, Yahweh and Lucifer got along so well,
"Until an hour before the devil fell...."

there is a world I knew
where time stood still
with the happiness
I built with you

"I like another girl,
you have to let me go"

using a simple line last night
you destroyed that world
until there is no more light

They look at me with curious eyes and I say to them, “I'm not confused nor I'm I lost, I'm just in search of something different …”

-Ethiiochick

a line divides us
on one side stands
       stacked all steadily
the things to which
    I hold close to heart
morals
ideals
promises
                     to myself
       to others

and I can see you
watching me across the way
a mess around your feet
and fire
           climbing to the sky
heat embracing you
just as you like it

chaos                  calm
             to       my

sometimes
opposites don’t attract
sometimes they explode

I won’t ask you to freeze in my arms
and you know I’ll never melt in yours

a line divides us
           so little
                    so long

If love can later turn into hate
Then the truth can later turn into lies.
*"There's a thin line between love and hate,
And a thin line between the truth and the lies."

Our thoughts of time travel
burnt-up when Junior
sang The Blues.

Foreign creature.
***** voodoo muppet.

His spaniel’s moan,
a call to mud,
digging deep like
“woo-woo-woo”

Smacking the past in the chin,
he dipped a laden lead melon
in a barrel of black molasses.
A slow lowering,
tender sinew slackened.
Unclawed-
the orb traversed his finger tips
nicking his nails on the way earthward.
The black drink parts then
floods back where it once was,
coating the cold round load
as it sank down below
the Mason-Dixon line.

Junior gurgled in slow-mo
dipped his Gibson
and stirred the stew,
made the black brew dribble over
the barrel’s shoulders
and puddle in the thick sticky
corners and cracks of
the Juke’s oak planks.

He fished it out then
-bladaplowplow-
-WHAP!!-
split that melon in half,
no knife, they used the trap,
then Junior took his break
to take a nap
in Baton Rouge.

The first whispers of the morning are sweetest when shared with you.