Sunday, August 14, 2022

Slate grey



Starting to look like my old self

Or young self

And when I steal a glance

In a random reflection

I have seen

The crazy haired

Listening

Clean slate

Child

That has been there

All along

Long time,

No see-

eyes were always grey.

Seriously-

is that the same 

insides out?


Born that way

They say

It goes that way, life

Mirrors...

What?


Again,

an echo reiterates.

Or so it seems slated,

Starting Over and I

Was Here

As if carved into

A tree.


Painting by Thorolf Holmboe, 'Weeping willows' c. 1907 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Labels: , , , , , ,

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

And then...

  Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign,  at first...

  • The Creative Process by e.e. cummings 1 and 2 (plus 5)
                         1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
  • An Other Song on the Jukebox Baby
    Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
  • Ex-isle
    This world  is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as  Push and pull Go. Busy hands and  bees-electricity, alter...