deepundergroundpoetry.com
26
I traveled through the spaces of my previous corridors,
touching memories as they glisten past,
little glass ornaments reflecting the many faces
of when I thought days would have no expiration
and the sensations were too eternal to be a memory
The fragment I choose, a decade earlier:
I enter the room of a distant yet present Self,
watching your slender fingers skating elegantly
across a frozen pond of letters, as if locking in
your emotions with a spell of frigid literature
Yearning yet calculated, crafted to be beautiful,
yet still disconnected from the underlying meaning
of the whispered gold slipping from your mind
into your hands, in the hopes of making any sense
of the crippled, lonely beating in your steely chest
I remember the ache, I remember the longing,
furious in the pursuit for catharsis and clarity,
blinded by the dark of what I mistook as idealism
crafting written realities both of my own,
and of what I wished could be my own
Lines blurred,
hearts broken,
nights lost,
but
lines written,
pages filled,
longing fulfilled
yet not
I visit and recall and admire,
feeling pride with y(our) prowess,
yet I leave you behind to grow
as I await you in the present
when your honesty outgrows your desire
for the perfect phrase,
and we continue to grow
together.
touching memories as they glisten past,
little glass ornaments reflecting the many faces
of when I thought days would have no expiration
and the sensations were too eternal to be a memory
The fragment I choose, a decade earlier:
I enter the room of a distant yet present Self,
watching your slender fingers skating elegantly
across a frozen pond of letters, as if locking in
your emotions with a spell of frigid literature
Yearning yet calculated, crafted to be beautiful,
yet still disconnected from the underlying meaning
of the whispered gold slipping from your mind
into your hands, in the hopes of making any sense
of the crippled, lonely beating in your steely chest
I remember the ache, I remember the longing,
furious in the pursuit for catharsis and clarity,
blinded by the dark of what I mistook as idealism
crafting written realities both of my own,
and of what I wished could be my own
Lines blurred,
hearts broken,
nights lost,
but
lines written,
pages filled,
longing fulfilled
yet not
I visit and recall and admire,
feeling pride with y(our) prowess,
yet I leave you behind to grow
as I await you in the present
when your honesty outgrows your desire
for the perfect phrase,
and we continue to grow
together.
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