deepundergroundpoetry.com
Things that fly away
I caught my first glimpse of them in your car.
It was such a sight to behold.
I believe angels wept on that day.
Because they also knew this was one of those things that felt like fate.
They returned again in December at the mills of Clifton.
People came from all around to enjoy hot chocolate and the blink blink blinking of the Christmas color display!
But not I ! For I was there enjoying every second with you.
Awful strange isn't it? This thing called time.
Stranger still is the thing my lungs do when they convert O2 to CO2 without my permission.
Creeping up on me once more was that feeling in my gut telling me your love was mine.
With wings as beautiful as a "happy little tree" they fluttered by once more at Lockegee.
One day in August the dew turned to frost it was an odd thing to experience.
It stayed cold from then forever after and I never saw my friends again.
Things had gone full circle.
Fate had turned to hate.
And I finally realized I'd never see our butterflies again.
It was such a sight to behold.
I believe angels wept on that day.
Because they also knew this was one of those things that felt like fate.
They returned again in December at the mills of Clifton.
People came from all around to enjoy hot chocolate and the blink blink blinking of the Christmas color display!
But not I ! For I was there enjoying every second with you.
Awful strange isn't it? This thing called time.
Stranger still is the thing my lungs do when they convert O2 to CO2 without my permission.
Creeping up on me once more was that feeling in my gut telling me your love was mine.
With wings as beautiful as a "happy little tree" they fluttered by once more at Lockegee.
One day in August the dew turned to frost it was an odd thing to experience.
It stayed cold from then forever after and I never saw my friends again.
Things had gone full circle.
Fate had turned to hate.
And I finally realized I'd never see our butterflies again.
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