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I am here
Walking as the bench passes
Damned memory, causes broad daylight and
Lingering conversations, secure and passionate
Quite the proud disposition,
Heat swarming, jackets nonetheless entwined
But no,
It's almost midnight and I walk on.
See how the world plays?
We are here,
The world combines us, that
Unbreakable cord, you silently suppose
That all your life
You're only waiting for the right moment,
You free us as the world collapses accordingly,
Expelling life's gushing being, colors and joys and
Liberate as we crash,
Broken as we mend the pieces.
©2009-2010 ~Wallet
:iconwallet:

Author's Comments

Does this even figuratively make sense? Have I gone insane? Do all poets get to that stage in life then shrug it off and claim that barrier between insanity and art? "Oh, it doesn't matter what I say because it speaks to me. Rambling words, adjectives."

I don't even know what the heck this is. I just miss someone way too damn much.

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June 26, 2009
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