Steve King ©2024
All rights reserved
I know you only as an alias,
Some stranger’s voice that bundles every dream.
When speak you must, I must be listening;
When you will sigh, I tend to that desire,
A strangeness, far from old imaginings
Which once could promise comfort, conjure ease.
Prisoning dreams may flee, yet steal their times,
Let rush rough sands through every passing hour.
Each hollowed moment turns eternity,
While aspiration levels to the core,
Like feathers falling slowly from the sun.
The broken measure comes to me,
A voice once meant to nurture old repose:
Withheld too long to keep its meaning plain,
Too soon for answers I’ve not yet composed.
I must imagine true, or must deny
This alias, forever alibi.
