Lacerating Symphonies:

Your voice, a lacerating symphony,
Soon to be distorted,
As I lay here aware,
Knowing it shall, if not yet,
Evanesce into oblivion in time as always before,
Heedful impending thoughts intrude these moments of ours,
For it is this very fear of my adulation toward you,
From this newness,
I grow obfuscated, wary,
as these sequestered desires commence,
Unforeseen, for I have long coveted this enticing rapture,
my dismal fret of loss,
Raging,
overbearing,
For it isn’t you,
But the agony of a distant, yet purloined future,
Tormenting this bliss of our present,
For those jubilant eyes I yearn,
I do,
Perhaps it is the time I ache for most.
Time, my very nemesis,
This analogy of suppression,
I watch It’s menacing daunting gaze as it steadily fades away,
Until your voice and mine,
Two lacerating distorted symphonies I’d dreaded before,
 soon to remain a distant memory for one another,
Merely acquainted…