Left to the forget me nots and moments shaded with indelible blacks. The backsides of horse mount and acidic angers spewing hostility for all gone against grain. These are not the proper conclusions and assumptions of the doubtful. Despised by few but know not of many. What lot may we count ourselves acquainted? In pauses just before dawn the stabbing agony of justice asked questions and provided answers beyond our reckon. For we were lost outside of time, having forgotten the boundaries to which he warned us beckon.

For what once admired, perhaps even entertained in celebration, we are now contained by imagination and extemporaneous suggestion. So painful the tribal rigidity with which we must appropriate lost reason. Seemingly forgiven our standing pronounced in scare hope and laughter, we left the stage with no warning unannounced to engagement and equipping. Our last resolve spent freely to purchase more lilacs of yonder planting. What frequents our prideful entry but the half-paid bills of love and barely bothered? We argued but lost the attention of those who sought the global.

Leprosy of righteous indignation, in half sown fields of mooring to the filth of good man’s thinking. Dismissed by all but those warned of being boring. Digging deep to find the pilons attached to Earth’s crusty core. We forget to live for moments and dine in everlasting, knowing the extended machinations of time beyond the rainbow. What gifted few leave go to envy’s finger? Testing tongues absent the acrid shame of caustic fire. Vessels tamed and shelters forgone to stand the grounds of battles freshening. Take heed or dance with night’s wisdom as the light requires freedom. In half spilt mass and gravity’s failing the world’s topsy turvy. Leaping less than apropos we found our way to midnight then wandered into sleepy dreams at the west of infinity’s curvaton.

The leaves and shoulders bearing burdens and skin so soft in shame and victory. Beauty’s cursing rhymes of love and august planting. Forgone harvest and shelves so amply loaded. The youth of purchased planning found execution in laughter and finality in song. What tepid mercy expected for so long-awaited sounding? The time is dawn and the reason or excuse given gone by the passing of judgment’s missive. Into leagues of wind and change folding the days to reach yesterday having mastered the temperament of curves. We shall not mark the march to distant fields of forgotten or traded pleasure, but plant anew with platinum understanding the years of things yet ventured.

To heart, my mind compelled. To the breach of lost love, the horrible fire of ignitable wound. Found in flight from a career of anticipatory egress. What worth in random footfall, contained by friction in the glue found upon boot bottom. Infrequent measure of categorical hurt, suffering from nothing but as broken reality of unrealized expectation or dream. Resolved, transfixed in consultation with time’s imaginary replay. Hoping, no pleading with the offset version to recount a different end. To locate absent mercy.

These are not the bricks of proper passage, but the wobbling truncheons of ill fed objectives. Infrequent yet plausible calls and cries for freedom. Emancipation from the unwanted awakening associated with finding that which you hoped pleasantly to avoid. How aware the fellow walking in trance of his own healing. Imaginary security reflected in flesh and bone bruised as the echo of a heart forgotten or ashamed. What loft shall tall wind give? What reason shall present as laudable example to feed the fires of future restoration? How comic our resolve.

No dance to partner promised. No home to haunting. No daylight to garden given. Lost depth in recorded pleasure, no feast of holiday welcome. Left alone ringing bells and knocking only to find the ignorance in being ignored. Scoundrels’ folly of dreams not so often surveyed. No analysis in irony resplendent. This the shame of candid song, found in wishes or luck neglecting the honesty of the divine. What day shall man make whole himself? What night shall mirth once again be given resting? No connection in reflection.

The currents flowing round the rolling streets of dread and doom. As gloom threatens the wellsprings of life. Forgotten the curled smiles and cheer found in the power of joy’s recovery. We are not lost but found by the amazing grace of remembered wisdom. To taunt or fret whispered angers or passions yet visited. These are days of longer nights. The future coaxed from corners encircled. This is the pleasure of even vile existence that it is ventured to a place unknown. Some fear, some rejoice, some walk quizzically in haphazard wander, but few will ever give up the chance to feel. Whether pleasure or pain the dance, romance or war are the reason breath be given all.