Candescent
I play the blues but I think it best not to live them any longer
Things end sometimes; and sometimes it feels as if;
You loose; and yes even me.
And the silent inscriber pens his dialogs and actions;
Another drama plays its self out;
And only by design; perhaps the light has shone
How little I realized or considered; in the darkness;
Was I not the playwright; but of course I was;
But I was not; and the delusion consumed me.
No need for a tragedy or a comedy;
It was simply one of life’s possibilities;
It is what it was and the good and the bad ultimately balanced
The peach remains attached to the vine; ingesting its nourishment but;
Summer approaches; and fruits are picked or will fall but;
The circle continues; and once again like new blossoms we wait to grow.
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