In knots.
Staccato joy.
What we seek
Found and lost
And found again.
Which road
Will I lie myself
On to?
Images I become.
Lone eagle.
Nesting father.
Social royal.
All laced with
The same
Staccato joy.
Lost and found
And lost again.
All roads end
In knots.
1 comment:
Another thing I could agree upon. Images we do use even to see ourselves. Arggghhh...that undefeatable instinct of relative association. To the point that let alone anyone else knowing you, you yourself don't know what's real.
But maybe that's not what you were referring to. In any case, keep writing.
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