sic, taxis

Words come to me like floating paragraphs, paint on a canvas,

days I could write about spending even another minute with you,

always on my mind wishing to break the shackles and binds on my soul,

meeting places exit transit station left,

sic taxis away from journal entries written about exhibitions never lived and only softly spoken lullabies in dreams confide,

epics of a lovers paradise written in stone,

yet the sun sets and comes crashing sobering, like crashing into a brick wall of nostolgia

and soon all that will remain is the pain buried deep in the cervices of dejections nightmarish soul.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed