Words speak their own minds, don’t they?
The words he wrote for you;
restored from the recycle bin of his life –
tweaked a little, saved as ‘for you’.
A generic ode that speaks to all,
much as the words of a tarot reader.
Each believes their substance is ‘for me’.
You hold the message in your hearts,
watching and waiting for the future,
when all that is told becomes truth.
I spoke to one whose fortune was told.
You are waiting for synoptic lives to come to pass;
a tall, dark, handsome man
whose palm you cross with silver and gold
before he disappears into the night,
notebook and guitar in hand.
He wrote you a love song,
and when you played hard to get,
he gave it to another.