happily tortured

 

having never met anyone quite like this before
and arranging to make sure we keep up communication
proceeding with what i want to have accomplished at this age
placing my hands on my arms is the only contact i will have today
it is the travel all based on the imagined destination
lie the migration of a bird that has never been there before
young but still knowledgeable as if
these pieces of information are ingrained down to the bones
out in the wild the air reaffirms direction
roasting the last land seen before shadows descend
time is just a myth of rational existence
used to confuse the far too observant ones
remaining in the realm of critisizing insignificant details
every moment is a grain of sand on the beach
doing lots of nothing with you is a comforting dream
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About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
This entry was posted in peace, poem, poems, poetry, poetrybook, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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