My real name

Forward motion in
Backward times meant as progress.
Wishful thoughts? Maybe.

Bathing in the sun
As tan skin comes to being
God’s art on your flesh

Sleep embraces me
Reluctantly, not warmly
Embrace all the same

Melodies floating
Taking to the windy sky
We miss you Lauryn

Asphalt speeding by
Highway receding behind
Forward progression

It was not goodbye

It didn’t feel like goodbye

This doesn’t feel real

Night falls on the wise
The sun rises on the dumb
This is not always