Post by Ross McCague on Aug 28, 2008 10:41:07 GMT -5
The luck that accompanies you here,
The spellbinding spin of experience.
Time might empty itself
If modals gained traction.
Across those tiny moments where a court alights,
When drums of youth abound:
An open terrain for one
Ruffled in laughter and keen sounds.
I have now no faith in luck’s golden galleon,
Its sails blown by some windy phantom;
We are more likely speared with purpose
Dense enough to lance the odds.
What brought me through
Is what charges me anew.
The spellbinding spin of experience.
Time might empty itself
If modals gained traction.
Across those tiny moments where a court alights,
When drums of youth abound:
An open terrain for one
Ruffled in laughter and keen sounds.
I have now no faith in luck’s golden galleon,
Its sails blown by some windy phantom;
We are more likely speared with purpose
Dense enough to lance the odds.
What brought me through
Is what charges me anew.