Stretching out he reaches but fails to touch the fingers he loves to sense inside his mind feeding the spirit of who he wants to be.
Quiet in himself he resides within thoughts made of claddagh ring eternity enshrined in the unbroken circle of silver band surrounding his heart
Fear of losing if the path is strolled on the left compounds the eternal turmoil of fear beset strolling the path on the right drawing his heart further from the fingers touch
Where’s the water edge? For I long to walk beneath the waves to feel the hollow bath surround the whole of my self. The ripples of the echos blocking the pain of a world outside where joy lies in a blackberry thorn and the red of the morning burns inspiring moments of spontaneous meditative states of mind
Inside the pages the worlds of escape over the sacred release to forget for a spell the long goodbye harrowing through his marrow. A rhyme to celebrate the only drug worthy of consumption the medicine of paragraphs growing into tales of darkness splintered by light
Words of songs linger developing plots unworthy of trust or belief yet as real as reality perceived by a species devoid of the wherewithal to know the dimensions beyond our fickle self determination to be who we can be while ignoring who we are
Frankie writing random words to seek the crack he lost today among the fogs of his mind wondering why the long goodbye keeps playing as lyrics in his soul