The waves of the past take it’s toll on me.
The trolls of the future only smirk at me.
They know before anyone knows what destructive behavior I have in-store for all the universe to view.
The Angels of the Present try to guide me.
The sea won’t let anything come to me natural, the waves and salty air only put any spark of ambition in utter despair.
The elderly in their chairs, rocking back and forth, singing quietly to themselves what’s long been forgotten.
The youth, before scars can bestow onto their pure bodies, laugh and take blind steps towards all their fears.
Over the years I can’t fathom what was racing, tumbling, scarping throughout my head to allow me to take such great hypocrisy into consideration, in action to define my life.
I guess no definition is permanent, not if you allow it.
Whatever mistakes I make, I shall make light out of.
I just can’t shake the feeling that you’re still with me, that you still feel, and regret, and scream at all the things that happened, all that will come.
The ribbon that’s tied firmly on the blonde girl’s hair, the brown in the boy’s eyes that sink into the skull that provides such knowledge, such wisdom can only be provision to all that can be established.
I cannot wait to lavish in that fact.
Become fully aware that all in it’s place shall have significant grace, true meaning, to the leftover mementos of the past.
I kiss the world gently on it’s blue and green cheek, whatever prosperity reaches me sooner or later, I thank greatly and shamelessly, because whatever I had to do to receive this abundance of gift and contentment, it had to of been worth it.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
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