Roseate Lips

having read
the words
i had written

i lay somber
in solitude

soft strands
of sorrow
trace
this weary face

unable to understand
the nature
of perception
painting
my known reality

in scenes
of dormant verve
where torment falls
into tedium’s abyss

this resignation
squanders
the heart’s of men
quashing freed spirits

these tears are more
than salted dew

they whisper
thoughts
of hopeless wander

knowing
their fate

to be forsaken

swaddled in
this brimming cauldron
of cacophonous echoes

refused
their final
resting place
that lay within
your heart

what sorrow
this truth
weighs upon me

for i have come
to comprehend
its toll

as winter
now descends
brisk and bright
with snow-blanched walls

i fall

to find the fears
from which i have
forever fled
surround me
in my umbral journey

i have nothing
present
to pacify
the passing
hours

and prudence,

ever the afterthought

yet
here i lay

drenched
in tears
that draw
but one
conclusion

the illusion
of now
is the illustration
that streaks across
my mind’s eye

like light
that lived
so long ago

now soaring
above silent shadows
to show the truth
of temporal permanence

this
you have awakened
within me

i can only watch
as perfumed petals
waft

from roseate lips

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

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