cursed to miss the changes,
never see the dawn
brimming blood red, arching
yellow flooding, washing
over the edges
offering the question
that we squelch,
that lingers in my throat,
refusing to tumble from the lips.
a being of confusion
convolution
a combination that leaves so much
empty
no global satellite system
exists to navigate
this orchard of beautiful and bruised
endlessly bitter
fruit
that continually begs to be tasted.
race, always never fast enough
to chase those evaporating hints,
dripping with sarcastic irony
distain and urgency
its a cataclysmic potion
designed for disappointment.
the answer eludes you
ill-fated. the dance was cut short
with the dying of the melodious fiddle
strung by hallow strings
lacking the strength of magic
and sacrifice.
cant let it all be in my head.
then, jump, the toes loose touch
of solid ground
rushing of the wind
tickles
with hair wrapping
the view becomes a vision of wonder
held, transfixed in time.
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