Ever, and a day.
That is the sentence, verbless
I lived this long, with you.
Since time was before now, and we
know not, but
time is moving on without us, leaving us to wait,
suffer it to be,
so sufficiency is always seen enough, no
need for more,
no wish wish wish it was that other wise
way, makes it so, sufficient to the day,
to the hour, to the instant, is
the evil… is evil all it is made up to be,
or made out to be?
Making up and making out, making
differences of opinions;
kids do stuff like that.
Old men watch and see themselves grown
through the past,
passed by and by
the grace for grace, got on the way
well, tho' less, travelled by,
path or trail or track, way
where there was no way,
this is that,
at the moment,
this is life, I read, you write, we meet in this middle
of words, and words, and words and we inform
to imagine what we think we see, ifity
apt to teach, reach ing
the edge of knowing, think how such things
immeasurable, and we may imagine that and speak
as if we agree,
some things are so. Bigger than we can imagine,
though we may, next ifity is pending your approval.
Time and chance, dance in wonder. How is anything any thing measured, without man, the kind, not the subsets.