Pixabay

I was born a lover

Stephen C. Rose
Everything Comes
Published in
2 min readJan 20, 2018

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I was born a lover
but it became a secret
I’m not sure if you ask me
I’ll give you a reason
I plied streets around us
Knowing my obsessions
never harmed another
A pocket in my memory
had holes in it
I’d stay up late alone
cradling a radio
up on my little bed
Gave no thought to
the building
or to anything
Ten signatures were needed
so i heard through static
I’m in a field of buildings
river close not far
I never followed seasons
or took note of much
or ended up excited
by too many things
I sought the inaccessable
behind those dim lit windows
Watched endured
sharp cold and rain
without a thought
Failure never bothered me
it never has
What should I know
Who comes for me
What’s going on
I never came close
or understood the force
I know the story’s old
Did I ever thank you for not caring
Did I ever think of anything but free
The horses are all gone now
Maidens grown and gone
Names changed, deaths, deliveries
Perhaps there is a Barcelona I don’t know
Always there is Paris
Underneath my mattress
a lost notebook
Watching’s best
when it just happens
memory when you don’t remember
Perhaps that’s why
I’m bad at stories
and rarely find
what I am looking for
Heroes deserve to be forgotten
Sweet mathematics pirouettes
in private citadels of we impaired
We close our eyes
We collapse time
and then we dream we’re unified

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Stephen C. Rose
Everything Comes

steverose@gmail.com I am 86 and remain active on Twitter and Medium. I have lots of writings on Kindle modestly priced and KU enabled. We live on!