on the roads of my imagination as
they deteriorate with age and are
in need of fresh ideas that always
seem so out of reach when searching;
too many words without meanings
have escaped my heart's prison as
the subconscious elevators that
returned them to the top folds of the
mind for quick and early releases;
regrets are overshadowed by life and
breathing as many have died around
me for lesser crimes, and I am left
standing in the deep well of redemption
with no hope or ladder of words nearby;
carpets of stale superficial memories
are the floors on which I walk towards
the future with the understanding that
life was lived as it should have been
and was blessed in part on paper
before it was misplaced somewhere.
8Nov14
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