Poetry : let-out : short hair :

This is it
Not the truth of life
a written attempt to reach you
a September attempt
Can ya believe ?
in Gods or friends
Can ya stand up tall and verify the truth of life ?
I wake up from a motion dream picture
little child of the future in my hand
I pass him on to the biker
the biker takes him through the traffic
up the hill
towards the garden
Policeman stops the traffic
what purpose is left for me - this poetry
I let it out
my hair is shorter than the past
ash colour distant end of true behaviour through the night
dream !
I'd give you my time
hell is word of truth, behaviour stands out
hell is with you, behaviour of a modern friend in absense of the right word
blissful solitude - not of the grave, the short hair doesn't catch the wind...