Acidic Breeze,
I feel the breeze blow over me,
I speak not of wind,
Not the wind as we have known it,
In the Winter,
In the Storm.
I feel now the breeze of time,
I speak of its etching passions,
Of ever changing of motion,
in Directions,
Untold,
It blows me across the plain,
from young boy to sapling tree,
surely,
soon to glowing ember,
I hear it speak of blowing out the wick.
And then,
dispersing my memory,
unrelenting,
into space itself.
Thomas Poe
December 30th 2019
another wave washed over me
fully I feel
foam and blue and wonder
Time cant see itself, else it might stop a moment and consider