I feel turned around, yanked about...pushed and shoved forever-more...it can leave one retching for redemption, vomiting their sorrow. Time takes time to take forever...then however fleeting forsaken was or wants to be, it's gone...all but forgotten.
Nakedness precedes knowledge...knowledge itself falls far short of the ideal...wisdom so sweet the suckle, a bosom of ignorance we feed at the TV TROUGH...today comes cheap, tomorrow costs a fortune for those who know TRUTH... fall far forward, face fear and repent to eternity's graceful promise...
Steer clear, the Masquerade Ball of hate, avoid that fearful tango, walk the waltz of death...now the dance floor no longer seems so crowded...a spectral shadow tap-dances out Morse Code: tick-tock, tick-tock...a snare-drum, snapshot of one's very own past. This HERE Grim Reaper packs a grin...slow-mo, top-spin & in and out again...love me, hate me, love me, hate me, love me, love me, love me...LORD, Amen
(PHOTO: Kathy Tomson)