You had to be to work at eight
I liked when you left
Spent the morning in the backyard
Tea in a blue polka dotted cup
It was made in Poland
Nine chapeters into a book of long influence
Or was it you?
It was better at your house than mine
The light, and the windows. The garden
The residual impression left from the neighbors’
reggae, friends and associated synthesized catalyist(s)
It was you
The day came and then was gone
And you left. And I left.
But have I?
Waiting for the days work to be done.
Idle, the behemoth starves
The desire of life fuels his consumption
Fed, his strength grows
When a blow to the heal only wavers his pace
Stitch a saddle and catch ride
Watch how he feeds and grow with his method
Mellow with the spoils and realize the bounds imposed from the leather beneath
Discover the power in position, perched on his back and satiate the meal before the lure.
One hundred eyes can not feel the weight of time in the calculated paths before them
Is it in this regard I suffer the burden of tragedy?
Or, does the self remain still yet, in excess in the equation?
Oceans of complacency with rising seas
Mountains fall while remaining still
An ark can make no progress nor give reason to stitch sails
When the peaks are gone and the harbor vanished
Absent of leaves
The tree stands still
Listen for the spring
Cant you hear the calm winds drawing near?
A cord is pulled
Gasoline fuels the chains
Fire is extinguished
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