Wish, windows to the soul
made to fluid words for some brief time,
and then dashed.
Taken from us.
Leaving behind a crawling need,
and bitter craving.
And so and yet... remorselessly,
It is the sad season,
when huddled for winter warmth,
people awaken to the budding flowers
and unfurling leaves,
and find the brittle twigs of lilacs
that have died from the burning frosts.
It is the season where cherry blossoms
fall like spring snow,
scatter, and are wind blown disappeared,
almost before they every were at all.
The rain is cleansing of our salted wounds,
the clouds blink the eye of the sun.
There are seeds that will scatter soon,
and with them the fruition begun,
that summer's fleet cool nights,
and long burning days,
will nurture to their fullness.
But is the sad season now,
as we lose and mourn,
and tears, like lucid pearls,
string upon us, framing the face.
Let them go, let the go let them go.
Let the cold loves recede,
as the cold snows long have.
And in our memories, sleep.
Let them smile, for they were not perfect.
But now are perfect,
because they have been perfected.
Let them go,let them go, let them go,
and in memory live a fresh,
as they were in that warm moment when cheek touched cheek,
and all the snows would not chill or quench,
the welling redness that to surface blossomed.
Let them live, let them live, let them live,
in that other realm to which shadows flee,
and like kings and queense a quince in silken rags,
hold forth of dancing shapes and shadows,
passions of a world once.
And in our memories be twice upon a time.