Poem: Aria Of Was

 

Aria Of Was

 

fiery palms 

clasp through long goodbyes,

failures to exit that which clings 

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, i know,  

will chance to reform on a sweep of wind,

much like 

passions of rain 

strumming an ocean’s blue breadth. 

so many gone-down drops of words,

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.

gone with the storms,

just like that, all the hearts 

which cannot cure what caskets store

in unfeeling, wooden breasts. 

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6/26 eds

9/16/25 .. not mine

8/2/24 .eds... epitaph