Gone

Brought down the mountain On the heels of a suburban sweetness. Escaping from the lips of the unborn Feelings that are tied up in flowers. Bitter blossoms breaking through the fog To a better end does one come forward. To be forlorn or peace-worn? A believer or a seizure? Picking up the pieces of his heart Let it be what ever it will be The southern front runs over the hills A blessed battle toward a better hell. Woven in tears of respite, Peony came to bed On the heels of their regret. Do these mists look darker to you? They sang into the twilight A twilight of listlessness Sounds of the fever picking, pacing Racing to see the next dawn But what does he say when the curtain is drawn? A close up, sensual light show That we didn't ask for. A bellow blows.