The Forecast
eclectia·@permagora·
0.000 HBDThe Forecast
<html> <p><em>A poem by Eric McCool, written sometime around 2004</em></p> <p><img src="https://s20.postimg.cc/gwg7kkxsd/DSCF0714.jpg" width="1067" height="800"/></p> <p><br></p> <p>In my lungs is my laughter, in the clouds are my tears. In these words is my meaning, but they soon disappear </p> <p>All around me are vibrations that my ears turn to sound. In my pockets are pieces of the puzzles I’ve found </p> <p>In my head is the picture they form, put together. My eyes are the forecast of my heart’s fickle weather </p> <p><br></p> <p>If I came out of nowhere, then whence am I bound? My eyes on the heavens, my feet on the ground </p> <p>My hands long to touch the softness of skin, but for every woman they grasp, they end up empty again </p> <p>Asleep then awake, in love then alone. A flower that’s blossomed, a child that’s grown </p> <p><br></p> <p>Something is stirring, my hairs stand on end. Movements are measured, but measurements bend </p> <p>Mystery permeates the fabric of being, magic explains all the things that I’m seeing </p> <p>My life is all memories, except for right now. The past is my promise, the future my vow </p> </html>
👍 magicmom54,