Stride For Stride

Stride for stride, my bosom breached by a frozen spear of former summer grass,
And left unchecked are all my boyish manners, now found lost to me in morning mirrors.
Drizzled days, both flax and fluid, apart of the same good and bad that turn the check in countenance resume my parched and wilted valves and pipes in their inward and outward lulling hymns.
For a product of a heart that feeds on wayward longings; I draw on memory, when the sun birthed weeks on end of simple sunlight. While I slumbered softly stricken with thoughts and dreams so made of countless yesterdays and smiles, no longer fondly found beneath such pleasant prisms of glowing silence.

For what I see, of blues sky prisms and poetry- resounding woes out far beneath the dim-lit sky. The blood of fall in the form of leaves everywhere beneath my feet; moments made by the parch and pardon of lovers’ lips beneath star-lights; these are things for which I’m made to do and do without. O holy maiden of the morning, leave me warning of such tribulations I can no longer beguile of resolution’s pangs and longing aches.