Biding Time
In the old days, the sting of the pavement
Would cushion our bones while we ran
We'd tread the water until the waves meant
Nothing but curves and a pension plan
The clock would watch our eyes shift
From youthful mass to wrinkled mist
While seas of green rattled our feet
And blindness took hold of all we could see
With ebullient eyes we searched for hope
The grounds of ruin dictating all we spoke
Could you read us through an hour glass,
You'd say: Let us bleed onto our past
Let the cold pin us to the wind
Our words tear open before they can mend
Let our dreams shape us at last
Our failures subside, our dark memories lapse
Copyright © Kim Anderson | Year Posted 2010
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