An exasperated grin stretches the wrinkle skin
as the gentle ice sprinkles the ground.
Though the air is too cold to breath,
the old man continues to inhale
as if asking for death to give him a call.
1955 Mercedes-Benz 300SLR Roadster
The pine tar is what i miss most.
The aroma so pungent and sweet
i would paint the handle black like ink.
My weapon of choice: A maple Claymore,
not too heavy, but enough for the damage
i needed to inflict, cause harm;
no remorse, only glory.
Come on home, never look back.
Now protect the corner, let no man enter,
none shall pass and if they do,
the pressure rises and gets to you.
Exhale the nerves,
and do it once more.
Feverishly rush towards the warehouse
where the love is convincingly housed.
You can have some for simply half your soul.
A fair trade the aristos seem to believe,
seeing how they control the heart’s desires
through portraits of goddesses holding your hand
and speaking your name.
How can any mortal fight off these muses?
Careful, don’t make eye contact,
less you turn to stone
and lose all emotion.
Just like I.
My capillaries dripped red laced havens,
as though i was nothing but a vessel
for others to sharpen their tools.
And sharpened they did.
Using my rounded edges to wear on theirs,
but wheres my sharpening tool?
Did i become who i am by luck of the draw?
or did a reality track me down
and declare me the everlasting structure
that bonds us together.
Or apart, portray it how you may,
i just understand, that between you and me,
Freedom over powers the passion of will,
but freedom doesn’t matter if your passion is still.
Neverland, or was it Nederland,
either way, i’m still a fan.
The stars lit the way,
a winding path with no end.
The trees seemed to trap us within,
or maybe they were protecting us from the world.
I like to think they were just trees
but a part of me screams otherwise,
as if i connected not only with you, but with the land which we found ourselves in.
or Nederland i think.