Friday, September 23, 2011

Ah, the wastefulness of grace.
All the beauty for naught.
The fluidity of movement that will not be remembered.
The flutter of wings that passes unnoticed.
All the sweet words I whispered to you
Unmark the world and die.
They slip like sighs from our lips
And flee into the night
To fade like shadows under the moon.

Every golden perfect moment,
Every sunset and lazy afternoon,
Every cold and quiet morning or breathlessly clear sky of stars
I longed to give to you.
All those moments of immaculate wonder,
But they die, fade,
Because I do not know how.

And if I could,
If I bound them up in nets of fairytales and dream dust
And presented them to you
How could you accept?
How would you even know what they were?
Would you laugh at me for being so foolish,
And release them
With a flick of your artful wrist.
To rise and form clouds
Far from a place of touching.
slipping from my fingertips,
... I will never hold them again.

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