Number One, Out of Three
Number One, out of Three
Sadly, badly is the way I handled it.
Things were falling apart, nothing fit.
Leaving it all behind, I hit the road.
Neglecting responsibility and the load.
A hundred thousand miles upon wings,
Soaring all alone, a Thunderbird sings.
Slicing the air, a sphere hangs, a beautiful smile
looking at me, all the while leaving mile after mile
behind, ever distancing the shattered, broken heart.
No plan, this man raced towards the future, a new start.
All the while, with heaver heart, not seeing what is ahead,
((not looking back at the heartache I caused )) instead,
just kept on flying, speeding across this vast land
with nothing but moments, so many memories in hand.
Number One, out of Three, cares, in spite, is there for me.
Hind sight, what a nemesis to carry, then, a time to see
all the fragments, the wreckage of a life you left behind.
Among the debris rose a flower so rear, so hard to find.
How does one reconcile ?, face that which goes around,
comes around as he traverses the last mile, above ground.
How does one find answers, find a melodic, cohesive sound
that brings Two out of Three, in line with The One, who found
forgiveness was the door through which, would guide her above
all the pain, uncertainty, anger and open up her heart to love.
B. J. “ A ” 2
January 12th, 2018
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2018
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