Thursday, November 23, 2023

Uncaptured Morning Mist

 

Color has soul, a lot of dying, so connected by heritage.

A city of hearts, hauling residues, trying to embrace history.

It was lonely—in finding self, to realize: I’m part sad. 

Ain’t no love—we assert, there must be love.

Blues and big buildings, souls stranded, some forgotten, looking at large eyes; knowing another understood, readily: on borrowed time—rays, kilometers, such a foolish man, rarely seizing where I haven’t sewn—harvest jazz, inner city rhythms, casual greetings. 

I was told something: “Cry it out.” 

The lonely ones—misunderstood, sailing concrete battles; roses and petals, to have seduced, realizing life in subtleties, a gentle nudge, tomorrow hurts.

The first giggle, the last language:

heart ears, spirit eyes, morning is filled with you: silence speaks. 

Hours to ontology; waiting becomes appeased; tossing through awakenings; pondering duty.

So darkened, can’t follow through, something is tugging, deep in brains, preventing action. 

And

Love knows nothing, a sudden gaze, a moment, in absence to see charms.

Nobody fooling the Light;

No one revamping attraction.

Souls palming oil, trying to grip it tightly. Life becomes seduction.  

PS.

    The strength to withstand the winds; a spell as it effects/affects some creature. A sudden moment filled with absolute certainty, so wro...