I am taking chances
In the fields overcast with flakes of dust
And they said I must trust the wind to stop
Pelting some artifacts of life
That which constitutes whatever little I must carry
To the next stop, weeping my friends away
Slipping the touches off their palms,
Some advice staid on my chest
The forever living shadow is pale
In its last look over the sleeping afternoon
And the chirping performer is almost right
In front of my dream, waking me to make
Me understand the meaning of trust that
I almost mistook for kindness and held
With my last breath
The hopping train missed the station
That I was to turn off
From my pane I kept the watch though
Lest the perverse attraction of an opportunity
Not go a begging in the trivia
Of a binding engagement
By: Procyon, 31st December 2012,
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