To Day

I allude subjects dressed as black memorials. I hate attending gray eulogized gatherings filled with stereotypical colloquialisms dressed in puke hued green. Why? As a prose freak of lines, I engender christianese choking the very life out of hope. There aren’t any reliable daydreams charismatically afloat, just biding time until the next dark cycle. I did however attend a meeting of the minds as the sun rose unimpressed with the vintage of earth. Let me defer to yesteryears when love was tender and life was aghast with yucky booger eating boys and their ghastly bugs and critters. And dark thirty was the right time to steal kisses, just inches shy of streetlight shadows of the opera. While harmless caveats of thick skinned and doting elders dressed in shades of white buckled shining armour, riddle us life’s never promised thorn-free, hybrid, organic food for thought. Experience, however, promises fields of sown seeds ripe with a harvest of our good, bad and ugly. Look past gone, accept now, and race to tomorrow.