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In life's great theatre, may you play your role well |
Cold Acts To stand back, observe... or take action? for the things that I've yearned for an age Everytime that I think I've gained traction, black ice forms underfoot on the stage Losing footing in cold winter seasons and summery sessions alike, such black ice, often forms for strange reasons, rending it harder to strike... with each passing blow a brave gamble, well to me, that's at least how it seems Even casual glances, slight ambles, seem so crucial to mountainous dreams Overthinking past steps... they are haunting, when spirits and souls don't ring true Perhaps if the climb seems too daunting, then perhaps that range isn't for you But the mind doesn't like scripts so simple, the heart doesn't let go of dreams, with bodies left barren, cold temples, we oft' worship alone in our schemes Worshipping solo through seasons, impromptu, black ice plays its part Scripting edits, for all the wrong reasons, so jaundiced, a yellow drawn heart Sketched out from the most favoured angle, for lovers of art, so macabre, Stretched shades of gray lines, in a tangle, 'midst sharp colours, intrusive and barbed Hooked for those cold winter mornings, with such edits in scripts, loved... well planned Thin black ice so sporadically forming, ... when you're not really sure where you stand |