Drifting


Drifting is all I know
nights like this
when all is less than more
and nothing is more
than foolishness.

No words can express
the motion of now's expansion,
the constant crossroad of choice
and the weight
of each decision.

Before long the circling
will come to an end
and what will be the meaning
of the echoing reference
one leaves behind?

No sooner have you uttered
a provable sentiment
a polish piano, playing Chopin,
erases all intent.




Poetry by Bob
Read 432 times
Written on 2011-06-08 at 00:14

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