The story builds as the day draws on
The page starts blank and the Row appears
The masses fill the spaces between
Me and my stolen time ...
We move frequently and substantially along
In a rhythm unaware ...
Thought bubbles layers in imaginable possibilities
Of my stolen Saturday night ...
waves blue and green roll fresh across the bottom
In the background the sun is erased ...
And haze of night shades the upper half
Pomp and circumstance appear
at the frayed edge of the night
They begin to rip and tear the one page away
From my story; my stolen night ...
They whispered through the swirly wind
'your heart will not be touched,
Your red hair will not be caressed,
Your eyes will not gaze.'
The two characters dance across the page
I look for the answer
through the blank pages that remain,
Yet the adventure turns to a dismal scribble
A single tear streaks lines filling the page
with mindful thoughts of how I knew
The thoughts fill the clouds,
raining down fragments
Into the sea of what was; is now ending
Before the adventure even began ..
Not all is lost, for what seems to be
won't always be defeated indefinitely ...
There is always another story to fill.