Spare Verses

Must be the sky of a yesterday I see;

Is it sane to ask a stranger the year?

Be all the wrongs in time is but right in place,

Know not whence I came, all roads lead here.

Facades rise severed, stitched beyond repair,

Stripped of form proper the longer I stare;

Oh good asphalt it melts to my touch like sands that recede,

And as if to cover up raindrops proceed...

What's strange in the ways, is the likeness that resides,

In bells that erupt now for the faces that hide,

Formless they rush towards, my suspicions flow;

I close my eyes perhaps to wake elsewhere I know.

I find your whispers stern they speak first words heard in a while!

I rinse the mud off my face to regard yours refined,

Poltergeists that stormed me just reveal as face-worn screams,

And details fill in the void to flood my conscious streams!

Waywards we walk 'long roads I'd missed, shall I hear you laugh-

At my misery of quenched cigarettes or is it my whooping cough?

So I blame the rain alas it's done, now as if to take sides;

Quiet its perfume trails tease the tryst of grammarly eyes.

Breathless I follow worse for wear, she unwinds the twisted ways,

As roads run dry to surer strides yet I wouldn't know what to say;

Silent the stars stood spared no verse, all I did was drift too near...

So I suffer awake where senses sway, 'stranged by yesteryears.

Reviews

[K writes]

Wow, so deep and intriguing, nicely expressed