terminus across my soul

a movement
compressed

the light is ancient
and I am old

what power say you
devoid of youth like
father time — eons ago

the vagabond
begs more

No! No! No! — pleading
be gone this illusion
a single note slicing
passion between notice

We are not who we are
who we be
not what thing
that creeps between —

our
divine dreams

:: 03-17-2014 ::

(c) 2013 E.P. Robles