Wonder

Freestylin. No edits. This was free flowing verse. Hope you like...




Over and ending,
the spoons won't stop bending.
Flying then solid;
deep, yet suspending.

Heavy and weighted;
joyous and faint
in through the glass,
sedated with hatred.

When is it right
to be see-through and light,
if the focus of this
is to put up a fight?

The endless contorting of
tubes and soft tissue
make feeling and fearing
much more than an issue.

I wonder of meaning
and letting the leaning
on one or another
become less demeaning.

Uphold; or be held.
Unfold; or repel.
Allow them all in,
or linger in hell.

Say yes to the whispers,
and nod to the folks
who were once never with me
and now never joke
about playing and winning
and rocking the boat.

Where do they go
when the sand and rocks drop?
When the memories tumble
and tears fall on top.

Hoping is nonsense.
Living is not.
But when that all ends,
the fruit start to rot.