Fallen Thoughts
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:: 11.27.2001 ::
Ripples interrupted by stoic embraces,
10 million faces racing to no finish,
Rolling waves diminished to trickles
That tickle the surface with a slow massage.
A barrage of October, a mosaic of season,
Forms a collage with deceiving roots of mirage.
The surface and what’s real
Take up lodging in a mental two-car garage…
Ripples interpreted into interrupted rhythm,
Sun sets and rises, burning on two horizons.
Where sure faces are surfaces fortifying with lying eyes,
Disguising the denial within.
Crying. Yearning to be forgiven, arms raising,
Praising to be delivered trickles of giggles.
Tender remembrances of cool tears in whisking leaves,
Contorting orange innocent trees of early winter bliss.
:: posted by Michael at 1:29 PM [+] ::
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