There were muses of an urban sprawl
and an urban brawl,
the only thing that counts is a story.
and you get a different bite to you
as you're shaped by the lessons of time.
Observe,
Emerald skies' fancy flames
licked by a tiger's sense of
courage and respect,
lived in the calm before the storm
or a painting once remembered
by the heart of a callous man.
Pictures weren't easy to come by
and I had a certain appreciation
for an artist,
and a certain respect for
the pavement
and the way it wears a boot.
Then a re-story, in this time of
ineffectual butterflies and
a drastic need to legitimize the tale.
Tailwinds...
My caution came up
I remembered the ways in which a war becomes empirical.
Maybe she was also an edgy lass,
Maybe the story was first too hard to tell.
Though, I'd taught myself trust and faith.
the austerity of a sensed medium
the rememberance of someone who was there
Love, had so many words.
She'd teach them, as we'd listen.
Rendered in
Four quarters of a heartbeat or
a barcode valentine.
Iconic, how it was still, and up to her somehow to decide.
