riding the trail
my head hung low,
trouble looking for a place
to lite,

a wayfarer with no good
intentions revealed in my eyes
the Ace of Hearts and laments
in the band of my hat,
Forsythia and the bad luck
of dark ground, something
penetrates, something is taken

the night festered
like a old wound

the weather warm like
the sun hidden in granite
old evening polishing its boots
on the porch

by the light of the moon,

the stars are firey mad tonight
My smile looks kind
of sly,  undercover of the shadows
in the thicket, leaving a lapse of memory in my family's eyes.

But I still have tomorrow.

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I so agree...forever.

Thanks for your time to read it and comment!

Poetry is passion,imagination & soul mixing together....