To think I truly forgot <br />what this is—a lie <br />& to think I understand <br />is a myth <br /> <br />finding it increasingly difficult <br />to keep this pen in my hands <br />followed with words I <br />couldn't possibly <br />understand. <br /> <br />Irrational; irresponsible, <br />no focus w/extra focus <br />& thoughts dribble from tongue <br /> <br />doing my best to keep my <br />spirits alive, in another <br />world I would <br />have <br />died. <br /> <br />problems & complexities <br />people w/ personalities <br />forever entwined. <br /> <br />associate with morning breeze <br />thru parks bench and ocean beach <br />a synonymous greeting of <br />affection caressing <br />your every curve. <br /> <br />It's always busy. <br />always. <br />something that shakes me to my center core <br />something that fills me with uncertain <br />flavour <br />something <br />something that <br />always. <br />It's never quiet. <br /> <br />lost a father to brainwash <br />mirroring myself unto <br />his fucking fate. <br /> <br />(a single penned line scribbled, capturing seven minutes of <br />Riders on the Storm.)<br /><br />Kale Beaudry<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-tribute-to-dionysius-the-hellfire-of-the-60s-part-ii/
