Sunday, March 08, 2009

Untitled #02

On sand so soft I can't figure out how
It could make sense to step on such low sky,
These clouds are fallen, hiding from who knows?
As I go on, an imprint from my sole
Decides it'd like to stay; it's tired of all
My pushy ways. It wants a new reprise.
I'm too old now, forgetting what it's like
To be a young child, chasing after waves.