06-01-2016, 06:28 AM
Theres not much about this thats light,,lol,,, and this and its barely poetic but i wrote it the other night .And obviously it doesn't describe everyone's personal journey,, but i think it encompasses mine.
Second Skin-
The calendar splays and time holds sway,,
And lives like leaves dry up and blow away.
Amidst the ceaseless grind of time ,
We glance at its ravages cruel and sublime.
Hearing the wistful chuckle in the wind,
As our dreams emerge and as they end.
Ever witnessed in our confusion by a passionless crowd,
Unable to voice our mysteries aloud.
Paradoxes of flesh alone in the night,,
Afraid in our strange nakedness, to come into the light.
Tender tissue and muscle resting side by side,
Wondering which one we should allow to reside.
In a body divided ,mind gazing both ways,
As it reasons and questions and dreams and prays.
With a heart and hand traditionally torn'
We dance on the edge of of vows forsworn.
Trying to blend the hard and the soft,,
Searching for that happy medium forever held aloft.
Just out of reach and barely in view,
We dream of a time when our journey is through.
And thoughts settle amidst the passing clamors and fears,,
And were free of our doubts and of our tears.
Finally at peace within our frame,
One we no longer need to rename.
Living and dying as the men we were born,
With few ever knowing of our passage through the storm.
Second Skin-
The calendar splays and time holds sway,,
And lives like leaves dry up and blow away.
Amidst the ceaseless grind of time ,
We glance at its ravages cruel and sublime.
Hearing the wistful chuckle in the wind,
As our dreams emerge and as they end.
Ever witnessed in our confusion by a passionless crowd,
Unable to voice our mysteries aloud.
Paradoxes of flesh alone in the night,,
Afraid in our strange nakedness, to come into the light.
Tender tissue and muscle resting side by side,
Wondering which one we should allow to reside.
In a body divided ,mind gazing both ways,
As it reasons and questions and dreams and prays.
With a heart and hand traditionally torn'
We dance on the edge of of vows forsworn.
Trying to blend the hard and the soft,,
Searching for that happy medium forever held aloft.
Just out of reach and barely in view,
We dream of a time when our journey is through.
And thoughts settle amidst the passing clamors and fears,,
And were free of our doubts and of our tears.
Finally at peace within our frame,
One we no longer need to rename.
Living and dying as the men we were born,
With few ever knowing of our passage through the storm.
