this bird

An aromatic abundance lit the air.
Cast into my midst, I grasp what I
can.
I escape on the tails of the wind; reluctant to hold anything
close.
You had past.
Only but a fragment memory, a waft of vision lead to
blindness.
Nothing had overcome us till now.
Our pockets full, our seams
now torn.
Lost from all consciousness but one; stuck to me as a nail to a
thumb.
I swallowed a piece of you that I never saw again; let loose from the
fortress troops.
This bird lives on edge.
I have no room for
dreaming.
There’s too much to think about now.
I lay where the shade is
deep and the memories are few.
I wallow for your return.
Could you wait a
moment whilst I gather my thoughts, perk my down and prepare for flight?
Oh
if I could fly above the trees with you!
I folded up the little pieces of
joy, and threw them away with the last hurrah.
This bird walks with a limped
stride.
Scavenging scrapes, this bird joins the others.

the past

You think you know everyone,

you think you know it all!

You hold onto the past, like you think its yours!

I stayed inside most of the day. Then I went outside to go to a place inside.

life indoors

is life

And unto what grand design be it to this unfathomable existence that I must roam its paths to many wondrous abounds?

Is anyone any more certain of its appearance to take shape in a form that gratitudes the mind and soul alike?

I have not yet found the substance that can relinquish my right and my will to so use it as its own, yet why the urge to do so?

It is all too greater an idea to place ones own practised imminence into all reality.

I had not gained all entity nor inequity, and so, be it to my fellow fellows that I may not be so inclined to decree an enriched abandonment of my being to enter such innumerable awe.