An inspiration so real…when it is gone.
Akin to forgetful love songs.
A grasp so endearingly strong.
Til another heartache comes along.
Pity on me for strolling so deep into self.
Side stepping the wanderer’s creed…growth.
In the chill of spring rains…
Comes the ridicule.
A flurry of inquiries sounding off to tone-deaf songs.
Moistened mists whose embrace feels lonely and wrong.
Chilled April tears aware of all the ways to be wicked.
Rapidly descending lullaby’s of walks that will never be.
Addled salutations awash in April rains…
a chorus of her dramatic melodies.
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” Edgar Allan Poe