July 04, 2011
As Lovers Often Do
They were bright fields, the ripe fields, where sinning was for fun.
Making love, clouds of dust above, under suburban sun.
As we stood the concrete jungle rose, to greet our tired eyes
And crushed the hope the wheat provided, stripped and fratenised
A shape of every morning captured in the swaying sheaths
Opened the blinds of my mind's new dawning, temporal relief
I try to feel the openess, the hardship of the sow
How a single field can captivate more than they'll ever know.
We make a road each summer, leading to the ordinary
And promise not to burden us with more than we can carry.
Then the harvester, a mean machine, with spikes that rip the heart.
Flattens out the golden hideaway, securing quick depart.
# You took your life as lovers often do
but I could have told you, Vincent.
This world was never meant for one
as beautiful as you........#