It’s a wistful instant, ad infinitum, without the nearness of spring’s heart,
Siring flashes of remembrance at the touch of twilight’s sight.
Rambles, a soulless-tearful musing subjugated at love’s deathbed,
As it rumbles eternally, indebted to life.
There is fear in the unasked questions,
In the stare speaking to heaven,
Lingering, faithlessly in anguish,
Ad infinitum, without the nearness of spring’s heart.
It is a silent mourning, a passing,
It is a cry finding meaning in the endlessness.
A furtive emptiness, spiraling misery,
Bathed in love’s hopeless endorsement.
In a careless void,
Loosening the grip,
Of light’s shadow, consuming hope.
In the smile of seasons gone,
In the chants of spring’s long gone.
A half murmur finds a sigh,
Rhythmically, it trembles at the touch.
The poet’s words abound,
In silent moans,
The tears unhinged, unbound,
To the memories of sorrow lagging far ahead,
Embraced by the basking of the heart.
That lives, flinching, lurching, and gasping,
At the essence of was not,
At love’s deathbed.
Without that presence,
Without the nearness it denies.
Suffocating at the vision ripped apart,
Consecrated by approving eyes,
By the words of never,
By the expanding space forever,
In love’s casual glance...ad infinitum.
Mourns of passing at sunrise’s twilight,
At the shores of peace and war,
A soul, a cave, a resting bed,
Trailing siring flashes of remembrance,
Engraving life on darkened walls,
And finding peace, only to be lost,
Siring flashes of remembrance at the touch of...
A long gasp.
At love’s deathbed, without the nearness of spring’s heart,
*Poem authored by: @fcpway