They left my life that should have been future
Like green sparks in Fourth of July works
Fragments of the mythology of loveliness
Cratered in stones flying across the water.
Young boy games of innocence
Frosted by cakes of indulgence
Cream filled delights of the id
You shall find what god has given.
Thus it was and shall be
Cake for dinner and supper, feathers next
The clipper ship moves with no sails
Boy finds no man.
Greenness finds brownness and your lawn is dead
No such forgiveness shall be found in water
It washes away the essence
Of your greenness, what was before and lost.
Found stones in lost waters
Streams of no end, spring from utterances
Lost futures within the living
Death walks amidst waters.
Those who should be my future
Are brown and dead
Left behind like a warm coke
Fizzled out and hallow with anger.
Essence follows damages of righteousness
The be of beings finds nourishment in the calm of rage
The cake holds only filling, no hard candy
Breaks teeth in the process of revolt.
The id of friendship finds no repose in failings
The brightness of flowers
Dampens the dawn of fledgling romance
Carries the belief of being.
The future brings the backness of the past
Destruction of what was and shall only be a remembrance
Of streams covered in the rocks of hardness
There I found you swimming in the stone.
Tim Bess, 2009