I am older than dirt. Dirt covers frozen bodies, like skin cloaks over the soul. I waited like a man wanting something, but something is fickle, like a change of heart, lo, what cruelest change of heart. She strides ever so, her lonely soul;
she wanders adrift, amongst the frozen snow. And I a,m in awe, of the very thing I admire, the very same essence, I shalt nay acquire. For she walks the walkway above me, while I am upon cruel ground;
she fades in and out, her very beauty, and walts with nay a sound-
she is, the cold shoulder, the body that turns it’s back on you;
For she is the empty school made damned, teaching men how to lose.
As in this, I, am taught very well;
I am a scholar of being;
an empty former self.
I wander alone, and thus this is so;
does not despair torment thee, of their very souls?
I watched many years fall apart in her eyes;
I heard the fading wails of winter, until it die-
she and I are like as, and like as is cruel;
the way the broken heart wars with hope, and to the death, they duel-
I am older than dirt, still lonely at heart;
waiting for the dirt to cover over, and cover me over until dark…
Copyright December 15, 2014