posted on Feb, 24 2015 @ 11:03 AM
Like a pencil drawn hero
on the margin of my life,
a stick figure clothed in wishes,
my naked limbs are covered.
They tell my story better than my fiction.
Objects that portray what might have been,
a collection of thin lines
that escape punctuation and diction.
Symbols of thought and aspirations
drawn from the fire of my life,
they light my temple with the incense of memories,
the fragrance of loves I have had.
Like smoke they rise to the heavens,
offering prayers for those yet desired.
The alter littered with sweet offerings left with hope,
promises I have kept and those yet to be fulfilled.