"Stale"
is the word I could use to describe,
the blatant present of my life,
Like a rotting log within a crowed forest,
my life waits and rots.
But what am I faced with besides the buring
desire within my stale heart?
But what am I left with?

A longing
to breathe in fresh winds,
structured, ordered, replenishing winds.
The sweet sent scent of new,
of new life, newer love, new things to do.

Ah but am I to ponder;
what is left to muse me?

...except the desires within my stale heart.

-08.06.03