Age, you came by way of withering hands
and missing smiles- i remember the smiles,
in old albums in an attic where a burned
swung with its deacon, the dark.
Ah! yes, you have all things ready for me in a
i’ll be there, by and by, as weariness continues to
(after all it is your messenger, what sense is this)
feel the skeleton of your fingers, thin and damp
a cold, airy vengeance- a shadowy portend.
i cover one eye as i slowly grow older,
my tears- yet, my hand feels my sadness;
can strike a bargain. … let me dance
barefoot in my memories, days of yesteryear.
As i bid my friends adieu, may i say with certainty
a place quite like my eyes, for with them i
much beauty, felt much love- like morning
crimson sun. …
now my soul lays me down to sleep, i am alone.
Copyright © 04/26/18 lance sheridan®