Hours – A.P. Christopher (a constant Variable)

So whether with a smile,
Word, or song, or blade stiletto
They’re just different names for strings
And you, my dear, are still Geppetto

And I, to them beholden
Saying all your lead is golden
Wait with sadly bated breath to see how long until I fold in

And underneath the ire
Where your grin is like a dagger
And the wounds cause me to sing
Your name in pain and slowly stagger

Behind you ever spouting
Words of praise and never doubting
That the whispers of remembrance justify my lonely shouting

And withering in lapses
Do I clutch to the betraying
And from comets do I swing
To disregard the words you’re saying

Collecting, as if flowers,
Thoughts of love where loving cowers
Holding seconds in a shrine within a prison where the bricks are made of hours

for more variable Constants, click on over:

Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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