Sunday Sonnets–Limp
The silence is numbing, uncomfortable.
I want to speak, to say anything
But I know that words are not sufficient–inadequate.
I fear that too much time has passed.
Insignificant happenstance of lives once shared freely
Have faded, dulled and washed-out like text, sun drenched
And exposed far too long, left forgotten to weather outside.
The text of our lives are becoming brittle, illegible.
Time, the bastard he is, has robbed us……of us.
Distance used not to matter and bonds once strong because
Of proximity have been frayed, worn thin
By the miles that time has placed between us
excuses…
I miss you, man.
Old buddies…
Best…
Time is a real jerk.
A fucking bastard!