Given a choice (which there was)
who would visit this town
let alone stay (to see it through)
the time melts into ages spent
sunset beaches and winter snow
winds whipped (real snow cones)
not flavored ice just chopping
salted streets wreak of emptiness
no one comes ’round here
everything is taken
(an island of sinking sand)
She left for other parts
dreams are felled forests
no promise made (he’ll be there)
taking all she had to give
and thrown away
train tunnel must
will never leave the nose
its memory survives
three dozen years
(was it a crime)
or were they fools for love
January memories
accidental fires (extinguished by luck)
and forgiveness
(who knows compassion)
virgins and magick fell into chasms
seven of cups (drawn by the maiden)
where she slept in her night
grapes fermenting
forsaken summer lawns
burns deep (the soul)
in the woods
Not an ocean (or a sound)
nor the work of the hands
takes the presence away
nor can essence sustain
what was meant by the crown
(on her head)
time slipping away (still it’s today)
while the jester (not a clown)
wraps riddles in wordforms
a reminder of places
beneath (where wisdom abounds)
grandfathersky 