Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Fawns

Your understanding is rough as rock.
The stone,
Your rock honed,
Shatters glass
Or becomes bedrock.
And though the world turns,
It's as if you never knew.
You don't read,
You speak too much,
Too loud,
And know nothing of she,
He,
Or your self for that matter.
Find the you that stands,
Not upon the sands of the
River Bank,
But the you that banks
Upon the sands of time.

Time is fleeting Fawns,
Use it wisely.
And follow not in the footsteps
Of those that birthed you
But in the footsteps of he
That guides you.
For the soft of the sand
Shows signs of strides
Of they that travel.
And in times of unrest,
As if it all collapses,
When the wolves circle,
And your knees are
Your final resting place,
Fight to the finish
Fair Fawns.

No amount of your words
Can make you stand taller
Than the confident.
Your legs are long,
They send you into the sky.
But heaven is not
At the ends of space.
And though the graces of
Height dictate great respect
From those who know
No things,
You have earned from
They that matter,
Nothing.

But time still goes on
For this Fawn,
As you seem to race toward
The end of yours.
Choose your words wisely,
Word your wit with care,
For tonight these Fawns dance,
Prance,
In circles around the sand,
Standing on an understanding smooth as stone.

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