i look out the open window
at charcoal outlines
smudged with a cotton swab
and begin to dream
of an iridiscent world where
colors are as fickle as thoughts
i wander aimless
amongst the ramblings of canopies
breathing deeply the air of change
unaware of my sorroundings
yet feeling perceptive
like a blind man hearing a play.
suddenly cold fear chokes my soul
i rush into that page full of coal
for i know not what lies ahead
and i am too old to be a fool or bold.
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