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Rated: · Poetry · Fantasy · #1121655
its poetry about a searcher... trying to find out his identity
old this city... older its scraggy structures,
where time runs fast
spring comes late
money is a mirrage
and everyone dreams it.

grasses are pale green..... sunbeam is virulent yellow
streets puzzles and insecurity dazzles
once i thought to conqueer it
of course it was my childhood fantacy
and kept my secret weapons in sheath
but could not open ... till it was too late
and blunt
rivals flashed their talons..... rend my heart
blood spurt out of wounds ... and they quenched thirst
loose my feet from peak, they removed ladder
called it a game
and once i got a soulmate... who pacified me
he had a master key in hand, and bland smile in face
" i can open your lock", said he
" what's your name?"
" time" he said and vanishes.
© Copyright 2006 firefly (placid at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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