Instances and Thoughts


Two hours.
Two hours till I had gone.
Walked across those silken stones,
their smoothed skin from
hundreds of waves.
I passed three instances of thought.
One in a fake love,
One in a haze of desire,
and the last?
A state of satisfaction.
I could see in the way
they held themselves,that setting.
They were tired, and
sought escape,
turning to open doors
as they appeared.
While they were
riddled, plagued,
by what we saw as
the masses, none real.
Until one scarred with age,
sat, thought, was.
We can yearn for that
satisfaction.
But rarely do we find it,
and even rarer does it
present itself the way we
envisioned.
This, you, now, holds my satisfaction.

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