Signs

The sky is angry at me maybe I have not reached high enough, have taken the short-cuts and missed the bigger picture. It has been a tedious year yet my friends are closer now. Have I left any footprints or has the pavement buried my fleeting presence? Some ask, why I don't publish my mind into a poetry book. I prevaricate, hesitate, negotiate with impervious angels. Time ticks on my honeymoon with death is getting personal. I think I recall a former life when I was the most golden in a golden field of corn. Tall with bold of eye, but that being is now weary of the way I have dictated his words.