Saturday, April 23, 2011
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,
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
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