D Vanlangdingham

You are running out of places to hide
because they no longer mean what they
once meant to you.

    And you are trusting more...
    because.. **** it, that's why.

You now love the man, who the bigger
part of you once hated--
but when the bigger became the smaller,
you forgot just why.

..And now all that you can remember is
that you have always loved the one,

    you tried
         so hard to hate..

And hate becomes love
when you let go,  and become  
a part of

the very part of you,
that you tried so hard  to un-do.

I loved, though not mine
That invisible notion that creates substance.
Saw as a pedestrian crossing the street; Watching

This love seemed theatrical
Standing still; Watching
The persona of something we knew not where we belonged
Searching

Perhaps I was lost. Standing there; Watching
To hear another speak
To watch as a pedestrian on the street

To pretend to be the smile that crossed her face
That industrial glow that colored her cheek
Tattooed sidewalks

The fast paced nature given; metropolis
Just seen walking around
Cars burrow deep into traffic; Watching

The capacity of taking delight in something so simple; Watching
Fickle
The grim street corner over by the third traffic light

Perhaps we stumble
Learning to walk; standing still
The clouds sympathetic in nature
Blurred the allure of the sun

I loved, though not mine
This notion becoming witness; Watching
This momentum walking fast pace; Watching

Slender shoulders cast angular shadows
Advancing up the grim street; Watching
Following the curve of concrete ladders

I loved, though not mine
The presence of strangers; Watching
A community of thought
Civilized in public

An unseen riot that wreaks carnage; walking
Her stare
That industrial glow
An invisible notion

Saw as a pedestrian crossing the street; Watching
Loitering
Stepping out into traffic
Getting hit by a parked car

Is it now, or is it ten years ago?
A decade long narcissistic show

Is passing time a sensory illusion
All adding up to the same conclusion?

My heart is beating, that I know
Surely I am reaping what I sow

I feel I progress and yet stand still
A paradox with time to ****