when they come, let’s be bandits, both
hand in hand
and agree to say nothing.
let us exist then for the sunrise and deem ourselves worthy.
let our speech be looks and our eyes be felt and our arms be outstretched
because that’s how they were made,
seeking.
when they come, let’s be gone
our traces known, our absence felt.
our hearts racing for the first time and familiar.
on the run, hands clutching without question or answer,
downhill without control or destination
just a steady knowledge that if this is the end,
then let it be.
with momentum and desire bigger than us,
an explosion of hot heat. we’ll nod our heads,
content and reverent
lest not explode with it.
hot on our heels, the ghosts of our past and enemies of our future,
tangible alibi, imagined chase.
i look at you and in a whisper say,
keep running.
and the question will linger if we should have left
or been at all,
as we simply agree that it was good and continue on
and know that anything before is futile and forgotten.
as bandits we are, both.
Thanks very nice blog!
Very interesting topic , thanks for posting . “What passes for optimism is most often the effect of an intellectual error.” by Raymond Claud Ferdinan Aron.