Absolution came as a starting gun,
Curled up around the edges
With ink stained corners, where life
Had taken hold amongst the wishes
For something greater than returns,
Falling back into old habits
And despising this nine to five creation.
We walked forever in verdant fields
That were only figments of truth,
Locked between summer storms
Where you were never more than faith
Bound in silver thread remarks,
The absent scent of harlequin tastes,
Bated, battered, and broken.
Emerald leaves crossed our paths
With veracity marked in golden drafts,
Somewhere deep amid the pending vapours
Of humility and dance,
Did we dance across the skies?
I’d like to think there was more to each step
Than crossed feet and dying eyes.
But that would be illuminating riddles
Best missing from ancient histories
And infectious squalls,
Unwavering living can only come when domains
Pretend to strain away from harmful wounds,
The driving sweetheart of fresh filament scars
Coming together in arresting curiosity.
Fictitious drawings that guide the elegy
Within wicker squares, where sovereigns
Distinguish the sentiment in soldier’s cries,
And lie awake with aesthetic maiden bodes,
Dreaming of the day their rapiers
Are only drawn to hear the gasps of grandchildren’s wonder
And bygone adventures told.
I wonder if I will grow old.
To see the stars in prism reconstruction,
Then perceive the awe of passions sealed
In bodies far too frail to dance out in the storm,
But, even with aching bones, the dance will lift my soul,
I will lift my head to touch the rain once more,
To see you in each tumbled bead.
Before I draw the draperies to my play,
With one last word, escapes my epitaph,
Will it call you home to me?
To see you in virescent moments new,
And know forgiveness comes at last,
Where we, to stars return, in tender rhyme,
And love in infinity’s devoted time.
Poem © Phen Weston 2015