walk, young men, among the flowers,
and know the width and span of your lovers,
when soon enough comes the time,
your lines will fall slient and plodding
and the flower of your youth will wilt.
the confusing truth of childhood
become lies so clearly understood
as the rook moves just in front
the brunt of your efforts remain
focused on your glass bead collection.
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it’s amazing how being interrupted can really just destroy the flow of words.
now i’m kind of bumped up a level, and out of the deep.
hmm… more later.
a collection of poems and thoughts 