It's probably the most useless part of
those rings of smoke,
Like what do I sew up the corners of silence with,
if this sound is all I have? The noise of
a word halfremembered and glued to
an idea not brought to the surface.
Breathing and burning makes the most
music, any echo has twice the lifespan.
And when is the sky coming home,
it reaches far above me and only opens
up to that damn Peterpan.
(it's not a fair tale).
Eventually this relaxing of memory
will wander on to wondering
why cupid is such a disaster,
it's times like this (emptied) idea of soon,
I wonder why people make excuses to be secure.
Experience whispers it's the idiots who
do not cling and are happy to slip around
like rain falling and filling the afternoon
will be the ones smiling when they mature.
The most useful explanation of living,
do we need a destination to look for an end?
As many answers as there are threads
to the mat, meditating preys on the slack
between stress and freefalling.
AN: life and fantasy mix better than expected. Comments on the flow valued, I had issues over some of the lines fitting.