nothing is still nothing,

a slap and broken glass, seperate emotions, trace my shadow, but leave my centre blank, sure as every heart beat would fill me, I'd prefer to cast my shadow in shared light, hold me apart, but hold me, stop amidst my fall, capture my thoughts, place in the hours, singled out tears, wasteful desires, longing out of want, more than nothing is still nothing at all,

Old and young.

What would the old man do with a guitar? What would the young boy do with the sun? Would the old man go very far? Would the young boy have much fun? What has the old man done with a lie? Why did the young boy get so high? The old man got the meal of a deal. The young boy got the feel of steel. As they run. The old man, cold and hungry again. The young boy soothed his burns. The guitar has come and went. The sun begins its descent, but leaves a warmth, remembered intense as they slept.

Along me.

When I fall backwards into sleep, it is because I am exhausted. It is the moment, I am at peace, the beast within me, below me. When I rise above, I exalt myself above you. I am above him, a monicker, a head-piece, his stone gargoyle. Your valley, like my valley is receding. The embryonic fluids stern movement though our river endures. Tortuously taking a corner, then giving a curve. Gracefully flowing, shiftless fall. Succession is bearing on my soul, immersion be-totaling me. I will become, thy will, be done with me. Before creation, certainty, masterful certainty. Along me, then without me, as has been done before us. I can raise my vanity to dignities score, but am unable to post it. In seeing the ground again, in-stemmed, intimate confidence. My yoke would be too heavy for you and I can not help us with yours. The strength is control, the odds, the reality. Ultimately the past will have greeted you. Solemnly, existing from once forth in grandeur. From abreast to concede the ascent but, not with arms folded, but by the graceful scant effort of the lark.