Friday, June 29, 2012

Midas


As unpredictable as the weather.
Yellow in summer, white in December.
As unsure as a night getting darker.
It makes you nervous like a small ferret.
You’re like an owl when your needs aren’t met.

Your desire grows like Midas wanting gold.
There is no bottom to hit as you fall.
You’re feeling like you’ve been hit on the wall.
Of all things that could hit you, this feels good.
You could fly to the sky if you just could.

It changes like currents in the deep sea.
It floats like water vapors in the east.
Like clouds, in empty skies it gives meaning.
And then the vapors condense, and go down.
Tears fall from the sky, and meanings are gone.


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