On about a winter
long hour cut short
During a terminal
afternoon too late
to abort, this momentary
reprieve arrives like
a slap on the stunned
chops of abject reflection.
In the rippled disarray
a forest of shadows beckons.
How does one decide between
fight and flight in a dream?
It depends on what one wants
out of life and remember, reality
is not what it might seem.
love it.
ReplyDeleteTHe title is a reference to what it actually is - a scribbled down entry in an old notebook I found (nothing more). I included it here for kicks.
ReplyDelete