the procession of marriage
halted halfway to the altar,
rose petals firmly frozen in air
and I am lost within you,
without you. The pigeons sent to find me
were lost too amongst the willows
swaying in the seasons of change,
the crows nestled on their perches
waiting to revive, or devour.
Though who is to decide:
a God of reason or repentance.
We are all equal beside the willow
and the crow, where sand ceases
to flow in the hourglass and we are left
with our own devices and maladaptations.
Yet even still with broken timepiece
the seasons do not stop to wonder
whatever did happen to the man,
or the crow, or the swaying of the willow.
0 comments:
Post a Comment