As One

hours give way to days

stripped of all
but all things arbitrary

every breath a lulled semantic
waning further with each pull

messengers of life’s surrender
dole out cursory entreaties

just as i
they suffer in a solitude of silent truth

trudging mournfully through the morass
in erstwhile lamentation

writhing in the paradox
of reverie amid eschewal

pray your voice ne’er stray afar
come throes of disavowal

fleeing from these feelings dreadful
reticence of conscious dispose

as we are, hapless to unwind
the circumstance that is time’s bidding

still, i cannot stay the ingress
of my memory’s procession

though i failed to give you ward
when desperation marred your world

so profound was your disposition
that i can now forgive myself

should all the stars above
assimilate in singularity

i trust our souls
will always be as one

[image credit: Marta Kiss]

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

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