present past

tappin' into some sadness,
tears knockin' on the back of my eyelids.
maybe it's the Sigur Ros playin in my mp3
maybe it's the fact that i'm walking into the morn'
at 2:03.

do old friends and past loves, know us best?
or do they claim to what they once knew
only to box in the rest?

indeed the flood is tempting the dawn
and though i've built no border
it sits, it simmers, at that point
right before boiling.

maybe it was all to trigger these sensations,
to encourage another release...
but it seems to have only shakin' my tree,
to prematurely let go of unripened fruit,
to watch it drop out underneath,
from my skirts, onto the grass
below.

where am i still boxing in the ring,
when am i not applying everything
to the ones i surround myself with?
where am i being scarce with the credit
i only want to be resounding in?
perhaps my corridors are filled too full
to permit any sort of reflective echo.

oh and the words run through my tissues!
maybe to drop down into a new scenery
or blanch out what is no longer of use to me.
i suppose it's this in between season
permitting me perspective
on what once was,
and what's now within greater reason.