random poem birthed in wal mart breakroom

[bishopsrobes]

Casting lots
Throwing stones
Minding thoughts
Rolling bones.

I was here on my always-sunny springtime walks
In the wood salted with afternoon light
And with talks to you
That’s where gusty thoughts where had
You say so much in your sight pause
Those empty spaces that,
You need to breath makes
They fill me up with uncertainty
Certainly over thought, certainly
This was a me that I wasn’t suppose to have with you…

Here on my always-sunny springtime walk
It grew so quite the trees could talk
And they sing songs of there own demise
With joy in their never seeing eyes
Trees they have no site
They just see where they might be
What the might become
They just see what they might be
And in a way that all she needs to know