Litkicks Message Board Archive

what I miss

Posted to Action Poetry




is not here
it is a future condition
developed from the past
the present carries not the weight,
it loiters a step behind
realizing emptiness
too blindly
too late

legs are ever moving forward
walking into vague suggestion
intrinsically following sound
calling to a hidden place
a pocket of stillness
lying in the shifing sands
shielded from abrasion
biting winds that tear the veil
hanging over now
the here
the moment
that I always long
to miss
may it pass away
rising over the shadows
of that new horizon