Youthful Error: James Adamson

To the Glory of God
To Gwyneth, with Love

A basket with a child
Handed down through time
The passion of broken china free of dreams
Spirits moving with air vanish with pain of peers and their mystery
Love on the edge of pink cracks
A field of green in twilight
Desperate and alone like a piece fitting in place
Friends handed to the beginning of summer
Puddles like t.v.s
Stories like future buildings
A true dive of faith meaning nothing
Waiting for time
Geniuses of thought form good friends set free to nightmares
Obvious food stored away with snowflakes
Broken white focused into a helmet of certainty
A piercing rope sends arrows into cliffs
Sliding over ripples of hope
Giving fate full reign
An absence of self-awareness
Request for help beyond luck
Cars bear down with the therapist stretched to the limit
Prophecy of objectivity
Hands in the sky and the earth
Burned mattresses and puzzles solved like autumn
Summer days full of dares with ignorant dread
Endless protracted search
Water receives the dive
Adult children is us all
Future admission of guilt arrived at with rejection
All the broken glass fits into the container
Dancing on the surface
Perfect fit of rejection of joy
Arriving here without the loss of infinity possible
While all humankind takes credit
Hatred nothing like a motive
Competence sinking like a small boat
Ghost cars on ice free of pedestrians sacrifice
All is there somewhere in youth
Their home will last forever
With farmers planting seeds
What cuts into apples that isn’t the finest knowledge of atoms
What burns more the boiling sugar that isn’t as simple as fast moving molecules
Where to search when psychobabble supersedes discipline
Vision is arrows for everyone
Time makes them lose speed even between stars
Chaos theory calms down
Only if you admit you’re wrong
Only if you have a means of saying so
When children learn they matter no matter what
And the sky laughs
as little blue marbles are enough