T's travellers

Since back then, in the beginning when ...
we tell each other bivouac stories.
These only times we get, we never choose.
While the hours chase us through the night,
we hold on tightly to creating
memories we know we'll lose.

It's easy when perspective's out.
Energy is sound; vision we doubt.
Over and over again but without a clue,
some of us will be erasing
while we are chasing
to remember sensing through.


One last word before we're gone,
perception burns the light
and belonging starts to hurt,
so much so we cannot hide it
any longer:
If we fight it, are we strong?

One last word and than she's gone.
Inevitably transparent, invisibly forlorn.


..