Pulse

I suppose there is a pulse
always was, always will be
vibrating notions
eating away beneath this skin.
When the sun peaks
time has come
to drink a cup of strength
and leap out into the sunset.

Behind a wooden frame
I met glossy eyes and cheap escapes
hiding behind empty faces
and this is where I run for dear life.
Yet, there is a wink of passion
written on paper
by a mind so distant
it never mattered.

And it the greenest of lights
something fed upon
voices, minds and visions
until it moved along on its bicycle.