"A Story"

lobb152

The rolling man takes no heed of time or space. Years are moments segmented in-between experiences of pain. His memories come and go by their own accord. Fleeting, haunting, shame. He took the pain and wrapped it round. Tempered with fire the outside was complete. Underneath the shine, lay a rusty soul crying out. He knew the problems were deep but denied their being. With the bottle empty he started drifting. The colors knew no bounds, upon rainbows he did sleep. Dreams, a flicker by now went further from his grasp. Upon his palm raindrops danced into the night. Many hands shook him but it was too late. Can you see him now; he has become one with the clouds.