Inferior temporal

Truth unfold, in November, 

the wind blows cold, 

and I vividly remember,

a few gold memories.

A full orbit around the sun,

is a calendar year of 365 days;

did time stop my run, or did I,

shift from 1st to 2nd gear, still blaze.

Playing on a chess board of pawns, 

stepping on clouded stones,

interacting with my retro neurons,

flashback to breaking bones,

Sensory system unable to identify, 

dicey objects reflect mirages,

gone in the blink of an eye,

redlining ghostly bon voyages.

Red rose, slow is to fast,

as clear is to blur, yellow tulips,

pink lotus, wicked way of my past,

at last empty streets whirr. 

.

Rewind the movie reel,

but was it all a blur,

feels too much surreal,

never met who they were.

 

Author's Note

thoughts?