The moment passed and I forget
The reason why or what I meant
In the exact instant I let
It go like a blank letter sent
To someone I don’t remember.
Even Now is an old event,
Both a flaming and an ember.
To hold, even touch, is to burn
Like September in December.
It takes but a second to learn,
What no-one else will ever know,
That all I am will soon return
If I stand not still but think slow,
Say nothing, and as if asleep,
Allow myself to come and go.
Instead, I cannot help but leap
Ahead to what’s to come and let
My self reach for what it can’t keep,
Moments I already forget.
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