Saturday, May 11, 2013


lines suppose, lines oppose
lines sometimes is color of your skin
still, stark, they then fall onto this scathed mind
and it rushes and gushes to those umpteen places
of highs and lows
and far below this conscious
where we once met and as goes the further story
at places where we fitted in closely
we were content
or were we most scared of the questioning oblivion
how sparks flew, so blinded it became
and the rush
to observe the sins of this wrinkling skin
the days of which became nights
and the whole reel of real that passed
to that moment of sprinting blood to heart
why I wonder now if I could only reverse the clock
and feel the numbness of beats
only to once again be young and a desperate fool again.

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