Perfect Symmetry [poem]

Pieces of us lie scattered through the rhyme
Sifting through the sands of time
Reliving the memories of our prime

Today I practice perfect symmetry
But tomorrow, I don’t know what I will be.
The days fall into months and years,
and the time, it’s flowing freely too.

Truth for truth,
what are you waiting for?
Who are you
and what have you come here for?
The golden eyes of dawn
shoots right through your core.

We want to make sense of this senseless life
creatures of habit, yet no end to the strife
as the needle inches towards the knife

Today I practice perfect symmetry
But tomorrow, I don’t know what I will be.
We all fight for the future of us
What happens tonight, that will be up to me.

Truth for truth,
what are you waiting for?
Day by day,
maybe we’ll go one more.
Do you seek a dream,
or have you found the door?

You find life is unkind and over too soon
As the runoff flows into the ocean proves
Losing to history -- nobody’s immune

I’ll pour you out a cold one
and we can sit to reminisce.
Love, maybe you’ll feel it too
if you wrap yourself around mine,
a simple truth of perfect symmetry.

Love, what are you waiting for?

artcreationist.deviantart.com/art/June-Calendar-671222952

Time [poem]

If you know anything about Time,
you know there’s nothing stopping it
from running out
Though it seems to stretch on forever,
Forever is not too long away
rather it is more a great voluminous
cloud, an expanse, like a balloon
that eventually runs out
of air,
that we depend on, trust in,
believe to the last grain of sand.
They say that Time heals all. They
were wrong — it cannot heal itself.
We are shortsighted,
nothing lasts forever
least of all
Time.

Love story [poem]

Here we are at the top of the proverbial ivory tower of amor. The beautiful facade of sparkling glass jewels, like an ideal — sharp facets, reflecting the blinding sun, the brilliance diverting eyes from the crumbling foundations built up through the decades. The river is shallow, running through the archway, eroding the last bits of sturdy stone. The black is faded near to gray and the white is covered in dust, shabby — grown closer than ever but fading. The snow is whiter than the white. But how does one tell, looking from such a distance. A shadow lurks in the frame of picture perfection. It is there even when not captured on camera. The dull edge of a blade can still cut with intention. Sharp pain can be assuaged by pills while still bleeding out. Paint chips off the fire escape as we stand on the edge, flames obscured, emblazoned by fiery passion.

Come see us in our vainglory. Are we not exactly what you have aspired to be?

teharcohn.deviantart.com/art/Glass-Shards-139683474