Old News
I rush into warmth before the snow starts,
Your stare is ice at my entrance, "Don't start..."
The floor boards crack where my shadow starts,
Extensions of the creases on my heart.
Rise to the occasion when endings start.
The dissection of errors is an art.
The piece is mostly the same as its start,
Only impoverishment sets it apart.
Blue melts into an aqua-marine start,
A wave assaults the shore line like a dart.
Where the concrete ends and wild wood creeks start
Spirit is unmeasured by market charts.
I turned away before the tears could start
And stepped into the night at your departure.
Your stare is ice at my entrance, "Don't start..."
The floor boards crack where my shadow starts,
Extensions of the creases on my heart.
Rise to the occasion when endings start.
The dissection of errors is an art.
The piece is mostly the same as its start,
Only impoverishment sets it apart.
Blue melts into an aqua-marine start,
A wave assaults the shore line like a dart.
Where the concrete ends and wild wood creeks start
Spirit is unmeasured by market charts.
I turned away before the tears could start
And stepped into the night at your departure.
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