Text 21 Mar 1 note

And so it is.
The start of a sigh
And a whisper’s end,
Soft and aching in restless throats,
Warbling in birdsong tongues
A plea for just a little more,
Just a little more time.
Let me stand for a moment,
Rapt in the melody
Of the halcyon images in paints,
Before their flashing blaze of colors
Fizzles out into hazy images of black and white.

I remember the river,
A slow-coursing stream
That moved at such a stagnant pace,
It seemed choked by the most smothering drought
That kept us standing there,
Longing to move upstream,
To become tall, slender creatures,
Poised and austere–
To become the people that thirst
To swim that lazy river of innocence again,
Before the froth-veined currents upstream
Turned our lives into white-capped rapids,
Coursed on a chanting dog-paddle of mantras–
The ribbon-seals on buried boxes
Shut with an itch to move on.
And so it is.

And so it is.

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