traces, mind the
gap,
Lost, in figurative,
at least imaginative, ever
in place, such
a sap...
But eyes for one, seeing
none,
Forever torn, incomplete
and in retreat,
Maybe, but maybe is
a gamble,
Ramble on, shamble,
tattered by the
self... Trample.
Whatever, like a stone
alone, stuck at the
fork... No road.
Bodes the same in
either case,
Alone, nary a mark
like that again,
So, to sit, and here
remain...
Mind the gap, press
and step in line,
Fine, though time proves
otherwise, wise? Not
at all,
Far did I fall... Won't
make that climb,
Not this time... Besides
pained heart, the head
hurts, falling apart...
-END-
(C) D.C. Chapman
1/14/2013
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