I Am Wrong

Someone gave me just a brace of hundred words, so first thing's first:

The way you think of life is wrong: absurd, not callous, but misdirected,

The second quarter of your life, is less decisive than the first, 

But more than often thoughts occur that lead you to believe contrary.

Wary of the smiling hands that grip and grin so tight, convincing,

Think of motives shaded out, like pencil scratchings rubbed to white and whispers.

See the things ahead of you, but bear in mind: that view is endless,

Spend a moment teaching things to you and yours, your mind, your kin.

Forget the day your heart fell out and turned into a piece of meat

And sputtered egg-like on the floor so slippery and called defeat.

That time has gone, like all the rest: it’s memories that hold your sin.

So come to a conclusory reason, hold the blade the dull way in.

A careless moment spilling fear appears at lesser fractions 

Of your psyche cut into the segments of a ripened tangerine.

Turn your head and walk along the path that sits inside the shade

Allow yourself to see the endlessness goes out in all the ways.