Forgive me, friend, I had been skipping rocks from the beginning.
Another cursed devotee from childhood.
As they say,
I have become comfortably…numb.
My yellow-brick road…stands brittle with sand and gravel.
I seesaw between what is and what has been done.
I cherish amid the drawn lines…every campfire song…sung.
Ghost tales reduced by the midday’s sun.
Our gossip, rusty from the probability of love.
Every flung red Chuck…now faint from hanging onto wire…too long.
I have sometime back, given up on…
Voodoo dolls with no style…
Holy Rollers with crooked smiles.
I have not been a perfect person.
And, similar to a child, I wear a yellow slicker around my heart.
Miles have aged what I do,
the games I have played
and the wars I have waged.
Forgive me friend, a glass of Dandelion wine begs me to stray.