Poetry: Boats Leaving Docks

All of this works
because you
slept
and the car
went off the road.

We might
have to see
that
someone else’s beauty
needs
something ugly
from strangers.

When you shine
something,
what of the cloth?

See?

I am a seed,
a living dream
that won’t wake up
until the beginning
holds the end
in its warm hands
and blows breath
to a future
that we can only see
while we still love straight lines
and want Father time
to tuck us in
to the tick tocks
of comforting clicking clocks.

Either way,
something
or
someone
is going to save you.

 

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About skymeetingtheground

Healer, poet, author, yogi, single father...outdoorsy guy.
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