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Literature Text
Always been told
I was wise beyond my years,
but years run faster
than wisdom.
As data amasses,
the patterns diffuse,
until only nature remains.
I remember the blood-rush,
our stretching in yearning,
the hot breath and cold hands
and red deathless kisses.
What choices are there
at crossroads and cliffs -
if I could have,
I would have,
my friend.
Life is a series
of pictures and toys
and they all look old
in the end.
I was wise beyond my years,
but years run faster
than wisdom.
As data amasses,
the patterns diffuse,
until only nature remains.
I remember the blood-rush,
our stretching in yearning,
the hot breath and cold hands
and red deathless kisses.
What choices are there
at crossroads and cliffs -
if I could have,
I would have,
my friend.
Life is a series
of pictures and toys
and they all look old
in the end.
Yes, I know this is super depressing.
© 2013 - 2024 neonxaos
Comments20
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Depressing, yes, but good poetry tends to be on the depressive tip. I want to steal your knack for endings. I'm hella impressed with the way you're cutting these newer pieces off. 