I fear the future and hold on to the past as does
a ripe,but stubborn apple in the morning sun...
so many riches,yet so little courage-
how does one leave behind a face and craft himself another?
I dread change,I don't care for it anymore-
but can a grape really stay when its substance screams
to become vigorous wine?
I don't know...if it does,it'll wither and crows
will feast on it for days and days to come...
what if I just gave up,back against a tree
and eyes glowing with a madman's dream?
it cannot be,it cannot be...
so much labor of love-for what?for nothing?
no.I have to trade this familiar road
for a wild path,put one step in front of the other
and don't look back in regret-
who'd unwind autumn's treasures for summer's blistering
I fear myself above anyone else...