By insense82
Date: 2006 Mar 20
Comment on this Work
[[2006.03.20.04.44.15757]]

To Brian

Too deep yet I write
a prose that does not end,
that creates a fire in me
I will never comprehend

I write of great mornings
of bus rides and cab fares,
with Country Style and Pancake House
of either plastic spoons or silverwares

And my fingers brush the time
and smiles can turn to tears,
as my mind drifts to these memories
it highlights all my years

The ring was eternity promised
with a love I cannot even name,
for it goes beyond everything
a wildness no god can tame

The thunder roars from a distance
and the storm begins to pass,
my heart, once as cold as winter
now as fragile as a blade of grass

And the once flambuoyant flame
flickers and levels down,
and I learn that love is not leaning
not all smiles can douse that frown

So I make my own portrait
of the love I have inside,
cause not all loves pay homage
to a soul too long denied

Now my life is a meaningless canvass
cause the colors don't want to stay,
so black and white is my image
and a change there seems no way

It hurts yet still I write
my hands bound by time,
with years it cracks and prunes
but nothing will outlive this rhyme