Poem: Aria Of Was

 

Aria Of Was

 

fiery palms 

clasp through long goodbyes,

failing to exit that which clings 

with the audacity of a tomb.

 

i will not kiss again,

no chisel to extend the was of my lips.

no pyramid of joys to reclimb.

sometimes my face, i know,  

might chance to reform on a sweep of wind,

much like 

harps of rain 

strum the ocean’s blue breadth. 

so many gone-down drops of tears 

and words.

so it was and so  

i played the fields of love,

heaving for a while

and yet

it was a color of solos,

and the ocean, after everything is said,

stands blue.

gone with the storms, just like that,

so many hearts, more lovely by far 

than what finally seems to matter, 

none able to cure what caskets store 

in wooden breasts. 

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8/26 ... disastrous... but maybe

7/26 total rewrite .. .  more struggle with mediocrity

6/26 eds

9/16/25 .. not mine

8/2/24 .eds... epitaph