Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Spring time in Salem

No second act they say...
Senescence says otherwise.

Be advised that
 just because it is only 142 characters
  doesn't make it a lie,
   just poorly qualified.

Like me.
Not suitable for employment.
Not polluted by joys unbent.

Spring time in Salem,
smells like London,
after rain.

Spring time is not heaven,
awaiting the condemned.

Spring time is not solemn.
Or an end to pain.

Spring time is fresh,
a rebirth of the flesh,
an offer to return,
to try once more,
to find a way to mesh.

We are no longer lilies,
nor do we yet have the time,
to aspire to that higher ground,
occupied only by the sillies.

Now we are like oaks,
a season is not yet a joke,
but lost moments,
are no longer cause,
 to have a stroke.

So it is with great regret that I inform my readers,
I have no regrets for those terrible things I said,
when we last spoke.

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