Words on a page. Snow blind staring at empty pages. Black, ink, the color behind closed eyes.
All held in limbo, behind a dam.
Ancient ruins in the rear-view mirror of miss-spent youth indelible ink stained, with rye. Grain from the field tortured by a man into a liquid in brown glass and poured down the open throat of the unsuspecting youth ready to become a man. Dizzy flight. Longer than ever expected, even after the morning after church prayers for forgiveness. 53. My number given by this calendar. Born under the "bad" sign. 19,666 days to come out from under the shadow of this brown glass into the cover of sunshining glass, clear and shinning like gold. And my Father's hand takes mine and holds it, and I hold it back. That is today.
All held in limbo, behind a dam.
Ancient ruins in the rear-view mirror of miss-spent youth indelible ink stained, with rye. Grain from the field tortured by a man into a liquid in brown glass and poured down the open throat of the unsuspecting youth ready to become a man. Dizzy flight. Longer than ever expected, even after the morning after church prayers for forgiveness. 53. My number given by this calendar. Born under the "bad" sign. 19,666 days to come out from under the shadow of this brown glass into the cover of sunshining glass, clear and shinning like gold. And my Father's hand takes mine and holds it, and I hold it back. That is today.
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