If I were to treat with such a myth […]
The Fragile Shade
If I were to treat with such a myth
as that which drives your soul, what
would I find?
Only I see that tenderness, only I
see the way you breathe.
But an honest one.
If I were to shelter the tragic shade
within my corset’s bounds, what
would I feel?
Yes, it is only I that gives life
to such a fragile shadow of man.
Yet not sincere.
Echo far, my lonely little life:
Echo far, my sweetest;
Echo far, my truest care—
And go beyond what I could
achieve on my hollow own.
Belief between us is shared,
but it is as if my prayers are not heard.
There is nothing left to claim nor declare […]
There is nothing left to claim nor declare;
We have said it all through-n’ again.
Each passing hour, day: a signifier of distance.
Yet I speak, praying e’er for connection,
A reignition of the warmth that reigned,
And a call against rising resentment.
I speak, and yet there are no ears left
To hear. There is nothing but distance.
There is nothing left to touch nor gain;
Can you, too, not sense this disintegration?
Soon they will become years: a pinch of salt
Cast into dispersal. What has been achieved—
What were these hours spent for—but tempering
Your spirit, to steel it from catastrophe?
I reach out, and yet there is no flesh left
To feel. There is nothing but distance.
I am weary of this night;
Yet I shall keep such strain to myself,
And treat upon the circumstance of the soul.
Encased in a boundless tomb, solitude
Once dearly wish’d now becomes a prison
To contain the greatest physical pain:
The endless crying void of distance.
Love lost to Chronos, sweetness gained […]
An Exercise in Restraint
Love lost to Chronos, sweetness gained
whilst trepidation holds back the hand of care:
to touch is to lie; yet I hear your voice,
I cannot tell how distant it is.
A rounded care, an ear attent for your word,
simple and stranded, waiting.
There is no greater smile, no more cherished
amongst all dreams of form and poise.
An exercise in restraint, holding back
once again, and kinder all the so; and yet love
is not lost, and yet, still, love is no further gained:
could anyone say this is cruel?
Nay, when you shine so bright, walking in company,
and ’tis all I wished for, ’tis all I looked towards.
Cherished indeed. Tho time may sweep away
the love born to be lost, this matters not;
all that matters in this very life
is for you to smile in your choice, cherished form.