Saturday, January 3, 2015


i love the way my fingers find their way
on the worn pages
devoured pages
transcending the ages
words like a feast
the table, set and decorated
in that old world fashion
in this room that i've waited
and i prayed that in the very least
i'd find some hidden treasure
scribbled near the crease
some promise
in ink
some signature
some proof of it
of the wine
of the drink
of the way you move in it
of the way you think
lessen the blows
or explain them away
tell me again
and make it plain
what have i forgotten
what have i to learn
what is it i'm holding
fan the flames that still burn
half dead
half alive
either way
either side
i've been on the edge
of the day and the night
it's almost come about
but that doesn't make a good story
when almost doesn't count
and there is no glory
i want it all
i want it all to come through
i want it all
i want it written by you

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