Poem: Aria Of Was

 

Aria Of Was

 

fiery palms 

clasp through long goodbyes,

failures to exit which cling 

with the audacity of a tomb.

 

i will not kiss again,

no chisel can extend the was of my lips.

no pyramid of joys to reclimb.

sometimes my face, even so, 

chances to reform on a sweep of wind,

much like 

the passion of rain, which 

strums ocean’s blue breadth, 

gone-down drops of phrase,

so it was and so 

i played the fields of love,

heaving for a while

 and yet

it was a music of solos,

and the ocean, in the end, 

stands alone.

hearts gone in storms,

just like that, and 

cannot cure what caskets store

in their cold unfeeling 

wooden breasts.

=========================================

9/16/25 .. not mine

8/2/24 .eds... epitaph