i wanted those days back, they were
amazing, rich and glorious ignorance. never seen myself, believed in self, a whit
naïve—feeling ugly at some point, given an allegory, asked if I dwelled in a
cave? most things change, opinion, conviction, home and life; wondering on
love, as unseen, a palm, a footprint, something to affect the circular system. torn
in spirit, fevered in soul, if only to hear them in dialogue; so addicted back
when, nothing braver than the cycle, amazed at how it’s all a fortunate seven. i
wanted those days to disappear—a sinner at times—isn’t that the argument?
permitting change for self, family and friends; denying change for others,
strangers, and those we envy. take a trip: nothing will be here? it can’t be
true? maybe inside—we need to believe in an ending? i needed a hand. it came. i’ve
been motion, locomotive, humble and gray. adult life is different for many: we
rush differently, assess independently, certain attributes must be present—looking
to being into romance—so apocalyptic, such the apocrypha, at an instinct to fly—and
feeling bored. make one a good person, loyal to light, unveiled, lost, baptized
in love: keep it solid, magnificent, let the rain shelter the crops.
