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Wednesday, July 6, 2011


I lay on this coast,much like I slept on her note

it seems as if they beckon for me

the mountains of colorado

I have these visions of reflecting pools atop the tips of grander

amongst the alpine and waterfalls I find markings of past foot traffic

oh how I hope they lead me to salvation...these paths I tramp

but instead its all dead ends filled with blank journals and empty camps

these ranges swallow them whole

those who are in it for the gold

listen with your soul,

not all who are lost wander

not all who wander are lost,nor is there a particular mold

Iam replinished by smoke,I breathe as if I was born to

the fornication of the wind and the season give birth to dreamers

growing up to be deadmen or platoons

that look out over green valleys seasoned by civilization

where time is a foreign concept

and pain is but a next step on the long path to doom

I take years off to realign symetry,then its back to the open road,

back to the visons

back to quiet mornings of coffee and meditation

soundtracked to the high altitude pit patter of rain & the sounds of adolescense

set to a skyline I tried to forget while I strolled below it

smiling hardest if not to choke on my tears

the only fear is what I havent said in years

clearly this head is a mirror

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