a whisper turns to a thought
the erasure of time has made my limbs blind. i stumble in the grass. how is it that i cant find the way home as easily as i used to. has old age begun to strangle me. dew on the grass has been my undoing. like a squirrel that reaches through the bottom of a nest and steals the eggs from the mother starling. nature stops me in my tracks. feeling and knowing the same now as i see clearly what i have come to. a smiling old man who loves his life for all it has become.
e x p l o d e s
through the fog
Most likely will never be ‘published’!