There’s always a line
between things
that defines one apart
from the other.
I believe it also applies
between you and I,
between mother and son,
between earth and sky
which is called horizon,
or that long line between what is
and what is not.
Maybe it’s God’s way of telling us,
“This is where you’re supposed to be
and this is where I’m supposed to be.”
And those lines also have lines
in between
and in between
and in between.
Bridges,
arms,
fingers.
They all begin on one point
and end on another.
Two small points
that somehow stretch the distance
and split one apart.
That is why, when we are holding hands
we tend to look at the sky,
down the river,
or at invisible horizons—
never to meet the dots
of each other’s eyes.

Consumed and confused
There is no line keeping me
From you, except you

-
Why don't parallel lines ever meet?
Is it because they are too similar
And if they ever could meet
The one will fit the other
And they would be complete
-
Maybe life never intended for them to meet
I mean look at Adam and Eve
Two half's of which made one whole
Made one mistake
That would spiraled the world out of control
God probably saw it wasn't good and he said no more
-
But it leaves me to question
People who found their other halfs
What secret do they know that we don't
Or do they get to happy and we don't
If so then where did we go wrong
-
When I look at you
I see the mirror image of me
When I think of it
Together we can set each other free
But maybe life never intended for us to be
And just like parallel lines
Maybe we're not supposed to meet
-
Lowkie ®

-

That ******
Mirror—

the thought of faces in humanity
showing scars of cast'd regularity
now mutes my expressions ;
~
jovial faces display smooth contours,
riverbeds of smiles and amusement,
a'flow— gleefully downstream

sullen faces carve heavy heart canyons,
white rapids pushing difficult rocks
in opposing directions
~
all of this scribbled down
in short-hand by the
Surveyors of Time.

—

i now relax my
composure
to this—

carefully drawn maps of
experiences, upon glance

face to face, year by year,
smoothed and unfolded

ever so slow melts
my candle, abreast

whilst smiling my bones
with an approval
from Death...


© 2020


.