Saturday, September 26, 2009

Highland trip

A flickering tube in late-night shift,
dots of light merge in motion.
Behold a finite meaningless mosaic
- our target, two pairs of tired eyes.

Foggy; yet, no one hits the yellow lamps,
the smooth ride onto grassy plains.

His handiwork - the table spread,
day's efforts turn night comforts.
A joint force, we make that climb;
a level plane, the take-off point.

Laughter, but who's joking;
this serious time for making peace.

Harvest's on with the blown out grains,
replaced by a fresher yield.
Potent dose of a highland shrub,
to weed out all that lover's pain.

White smoke drives us up,
no missing notes the sail is smooth.

Dreamy eyes aren't waking up,
arise, her invite for the retro mix.
Swings and kisses, guns and babes;
tough men die as the focus fades.

Sleep... a voice from afar,
long after that Thunderbird song.

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