Inconsistency

I exist between old age and immaturity

Fluttering between fleeing attention

And resigned forgetfulness

Uncertainty and a vague notion

That nothing ever really changes.

A brightly colored kite

A gnarled oak overhanging a riverside

Gently swaying and creaking

Like aged bones under mottled skin.

My lips are dyed with passion

Lingering with the taste of honey

While my tongue lies still

Weighed down by heavy thoughts

Whose reminiscent nature begets woe.

Fickle foundations crumble

Swiftly shifting lines casting aside

An aside to the inner workings

Of a gently breaking heart.

Taking in stride the infantile steps

Between getting there and making it,

I walked after I crawled

Before I crawled again.