| sang-froid |
[30 Jan 2006|03:44pm] |
the luck of the draw
affords want with
its' drive to persist,
and burn a person
with its teeth which hold and
gnash in small (or large)
bits at any given time.
and time, which is
made for a lot of things, may
now not be made to wait in the under
brush for a signal to begin the
tasks at hand; there is (indeed)
a time, place, a reason for almost
anything.
because when is not accepting
renegotiations, and love knows where
its not needed and behaves
accordingly; the placid day moves
me to reconsider my herohood, and
go, not minding the number of paces
or breaths taken in the leaving.
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