Of Life's True Death Poem by Blaine Strong

Pride stricken no longer privy to her internal desperation of tempting embrace.
Lustful brushes with finetuned cologne at their curiousity gripped nostrils.
As if a garden unflourished by musty seed, had piled itself comfortably on my wandering brain.
The kind of signal that said we were honest, yet lacking genuine originality as we sit fireside reading books of eastern infatuations.
Days pass swift as a bone shattering wind howls of the north, not even Trump's great wall could hold back.
Amidst the pale horizon of artisans and masons drowning, arms unreachable even by the rugged coastal giants.
These moments fade, much like childish lettering on sidewalks.History to repeat as sure that the calluses on my feet had hardened like molten lava tumbling about the ocean.
Like the old dog wags his tale, the geriatric veteran wails his tail.
Toddler frollicks among pastures of Daisy
Embryonic creature suckled about the abortion timeline tunnel. Forgotten in memory.
As the adolescent poet burns words at dusks pinkish fury, I walk the cobbles alone.
Turning clay to stone, mud to flesh
Forgotten as sure as our last bowel movement,
Crawling the fringes of my destiny at crooked crossroads.