Not sure where I stand on the line.
All that I can say is that I’m feeling fine.
Wrinkles and ruptures stain all the skies.
Have I put in for one too many tries?
It seems like the bark is withered and sharp.
The worse it grows the more sings the harp.
Yet I refuse to turn and skip off.
Or be drawn like a flame and a moth.
Venturing deep only leads to dead ends.
It’s a place where there are no true friends.
Clarion calls for the dawn and the dusk.
Air is filled with a distinctive musk.
Not for me I have to be honest.
Don’t question me about what you were promised.
Beyond my limits and you are fully aware.
That your wish to join is not for me to dub fair.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 