ebb and flow, ebb and flow,
rise and shine to morning dew
threading across our window panes.
sinew and gore string through
aged splashes of cracked paint.
kiss of polish and crimson blood--
we're stuck in a rut.
and time labels our unchanging hues
evergreen
youthful chartreuse highlights
our faces-- never dulling, never ageing.
rising--come morn,
witnessing the dawning of another dusk,
then flitting through calendar pages.
I'd rather prefer
a deciduous label.
but I'm afraid we're destined to
be victims of
another morning
riddled with dew
and another evening
that sentences grief
and another night
that kills us slowly
through tendrils
of our own contemplation
and that's how we'll flit
through calendar pages--
living another, no the same day
till
the
world
rips
its
own
awnings.
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YOU ARE READING
ESOTERIC PHILOSOPHIES
Poetry-thoughts in the form of little rivulets that part from the undulating river of my cryptic mind in a poetic jumble of words- ~ e s o t e r i c p h i l o s o p h i e s ~ ©Aneet, August 2015 lowercase intended
