Flow

Flow
 
A cadence called over the hum of morning city life.
The dying fog that rose, deep from the basest earth,
was the color of the dress you wore, the day my
 
Life began to the humming of my diesel motor.
They say that love is blind yet why can I see you?
So clearly, like gradient dawn staining deep red,
 
So vivid in my dreams where my thoughts of your cut
Blonde hair, like marigolds dancing that foggy morning.
Yet now, dead, hanging dried in my garage - the prison
 
My heart was held inside the knickknacks, the gifts
that would never be given. Locked up inside a box.
A layer of dust, gathered by the ages, the phantom
 
years passing so slowly, to be forgotten, not lived.
Fading like the white winged butterfly, dying in the
concrete room I called home.Flow
 
A cadence called over the hum of morning city life.
The dying fog that rose, deep from the basest earth,
was the color of the dress you wore, the day my
 
Life began to the humming of my diesel motor.
They say that love is blind yet why can I see you?
So clearly, like gradient dawn staining deep red,
 
So vivid in my dreams where my thoughts of your cut
Blonde hair, like marigolds dancing that foggy morning.
Yet now, dead, hanging dried in my garage - the prison
 
My heart was held inside the knickknacks, the gifts
that would never be given. Locked up inside a box.
A layer of dust, gathered by the ages, the phantom
 
years passing so slowly, to be forgotten, not lived.
Fading like the white winged butterfly, dying in the
concrete room I called home.


000

The punctuation is a little shakey but very important, the Stanzas are ment to flow into each other yet be be read as individuall peices of writing.