Call me a coward, it's so fitting. I flee from open doors. They are creaking, cracking open, and I will never escape them all. I will proceed in fear
but well past noon, they weaken die and fade. But there's many perspective buds still clinging to the vine, waiting in patience to show their glory at
Lately I've been staring at the clouds, alive with beauty. Reflecting all that I live, and I can't help but wonder, When will they fade away? Fearing
The air is good here, So I'll breathe in deeply, Then release all that I hold inside. My lungs are gilded gold, But I know how the time may go Before
Tiny spheres float in fragile fashion on fluid surfaces like time capsules of all ages and spacious intervals. All days and months and years, they hold
early but well past noon, they weaken die and fade. But there's many perspective buds still clinging to the vine, waiting in patience to show their glory at
