Lazy rhythm in a field of brown and green.
No hurried need to abandon this wintered scene.
Contemplative devil challenges my day.
Thoughtful angel wrestles my soul's decay.
Four legged beasts, oblivious to my past,
Frolic and hunt among the withered grass.
Winged creatures sing from the trees and the skies.
Remarking in song the gaze of wishful eyes.
They know not the cut of their haunting chords on me.
Nor how sweetly their lullaby reflects my want to flee.
Back to your side. To your arms. To your embrace.
Back to your lips. To your words. To your hands upon my face.
Lovers once, passionately we were fueled.
Now our desires mournfully have cooled.
Neglected, forgotten in a wasteland of time.
We aborted mutual desires and syncopated rhyme.
I'm left alone now on this patch of brown and green.
Burrs beneath my shoes and miles of blue above, can be seen.
Wind in my hair, grayed from age.
Wistful for you, my heart sings its rage.
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