| poem written in the final cares?s of a heart clandestine in every word you speak. i know it was but a midnight ago, you two ran off to the keep. and kissed and made love, til nightlight went away, and continued through the flashing, of earth's holy star. you brought out the cannons to take down my home, where i lay on a death bed, a plutonian throne, bestrewn with petals grey and cracking. but i choose the best for you, and give you them without a dithering. truly you must know, that for you, no-matter how it ails me, and no-matter how many times you choose to break my heart, i will deliver only the finest to you. i will give you only things, that helen would not feel worthy to possess. you are the truest girl i've ever known, i don't feel as if i'm meant to let you go. but i must be an old man now, ugly, decrepit, expiring. taking the final bow to you, as i walk out from your lover's door. taking my place in no-where. taking my seat as nothing. i am fine with this, because i believe the kisses we shared, did mean even the most miniscule of things. though these things are retired, they were once (and still are) the things that i admire. i conjure these feelings into my head, crying with joy. as hearing the first call of a mother lark, following the final frost. shivering, safe and warm in the little bed inside my head. of the night you made me feel alive. walking through cold confined streets, i take up space where leaves should be. so i'll just go back, and wrap myself in the warm safe place, to think of things of never-be. |