Post by Steve on Jan 21, 2008 12:19:14 GMT -5
when enough time passes, will i be able? i have trained through love, loss, loneliness and wisdom. i have put together fragments that would already have been lost. loves have been rekindled, and loves have been let dwindle...but, when the time comes, when the thoughts of new are only those of old, will the only thing ready be my balding scalp prepared for the sun to burn?
i have enough regrets and enough happiness to eventually forget. i have enough easiness to make all hard. i have the heart but lack the blood, and when the time comes, will i be able? will i be able and ready and willing and as ambitious to switch on the ceiling fan to disperse these loves and happies and sads and grievances, so that once spread and lied in positions i see suitable they may layer life and its people in comfort and knowledge? do the days have to pass like an infant in the night? must they sleep in a forest that even by day’s light not a sight beyond a tree can be seen?
and if those days come, my love, those days when i mutter about, forgetting every yesterday and remembering every other year, will the breeze of life and love and happiness to such heights as sadness be only felt by my brow? when the days have not even a sun to separate themselves, will you still believe it cute that i quote Donne?
will i look back at all or none and remember sitting here, typing, by the light resting delicate-ballerina-style on the pillow beside me? will...will...will... what else is there at this time but to conjure? will...will...will...your love still rest against me like a worried mind against a pillow...?
i have enough regrets and enough happiness to eventually forget. i have enough easiness to make all hard. i have the heart but lack the blood, and when the time comes, will i be able? will i be able and ready and willing and as ambitious to switch on the ceiling fan to disperse these loves and happies and sads and grievances, so that once spread and lied in positions i see suitable they may layer life and its people in comfort and knowledge? do the days have to pass like an infant in the night? must they sleep in a forest that even by day’s light not a sight beyond a tree can be seen?
and if those days come, my love, those days when i mutter about, forgetting every yesterday and remembering every other year, will the breeze of life and love and happiness to such heights as sadness be only felt by my brow? when the days have not even a sun to separate themselves, will you still believe it cute that i quote Donne?
will i look back at all or none and remember sitting here, typing, by the light resting delicate-ballerina-style on the pillow beside me? will...will...will... what else is there at this time but to conjure? will...will...will...your love still rest against me like a worried mind against a pillow...?