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Inner Lines
March 6, 2013
My words are written,
The lines are yet untold.
Every moment of my life,
Allows a new page to unfold
Into words that fly off pages,
And glide into the sky,
To ever changing shapes,
That still the air nearby.
Perhaps my inner lines,
Describe my very thoughts.
Remains of broken memories,
Never reaching those who sought.
To see the water flowing,
Up and down the slopes,
Of ever changing formations,
That wisp and interlope.
Those words are written in stone,
With ink as black as night;
And they will keep on going,
No ifs, or buts, or might.
© Ranna C., Monmouth Junction, NJ
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