Some of us are older,
Others search for age,
Making time over,
“I am”, said the sage.
Is it looking for never?
Or finding sometimes dull,
Now laughs forever,
I am still waiting for the “gull”.
Half people look around,
Open pockets in exchange,
Eyes open to sound,
How do I estrange?
Words don’t belong to us,
Over the clouds to there,
An un-ending circus,
Of the ever masquerading bear.
My songs are smoke colored,
They search for a clock,
To nail within a memory,
And dreaming behind a lock.
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