Old ones watching the colours getting exploited
and the sip I took
of war-fires and treachery,
tells us to sit afar.
Swayed by stories moon-shine tells you
and dreams personated by perfection;
darkness will take him and perhaps you
and will stare me from the blanket you sew.
I thought my early days were fawner
Hazed by forgotten and numbered days
I had one pen, one voice and different minds to keep up with
Yet I couldn’t keep up with my own.
It began in the brighter days
When my days weren’t bright at all
I saw lines as vividly as I can
And friends were none to keep.
I was just a tourist
Passing by their lives
Peeping through the lens
Of which I shouldn’t lie.
I made the art alive
Breath as fresh as it can ever be
Perhaps to be broken by someone
Younger after all.