A Series of Landscapes

Every character has his or her own mind. Yet the threads of time-after-time are interwoven within us as the beads on a necklace, the lace on a hem that rings the edge of a throat full of life and a landscape of flesh, the biggest organ we have, beautiful living beings.

Rush! The man inside the boy rushes on,

urging

The blood-rush of every urge

And surge. What can this moment mean,

 the next, my life?

The hurtling speed, even then

The sensation of my feet pounding

Pavement, breathing labored

With the satisfaction then of stamina

Growing, endurance building

Into a bank I can depend on

In the strength

Of its cellular investment,

Time after time,

And on the verge of

Stock exchange.

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I wish, I wish, I want..

He said in his dreams, a slight swing before dreamland

Actually, a verge, a lip of a line he liked to flirt

But had never crossed.

The line he crossed then was one he’d regret,

Until he learned that regrets are for fools who never learn.

Regrets are drips of rain that sometimes burrow,

Deep, but when roots are ready, soil and bloom

Will change and grow, become a smile to those who light

Upon seeing life, its burst through, into

Visible form.