It’s like serendipity.
Lifted up from the ground, the insecurities slip away
The pursued kiss; butterflies within and without
A thing never promised, living subsidized in the mind
Days to weeks to months. The gift of grace lingering only so far.
Until the massless lilies gain momentum; a liar found out.
The books gathering dust. Parched mouth. Hollow eyes.
Camaraderie forsaken and traded for petals; the bluest of blue.
From the darkness where friendship and wildflowers once were,
emerge voices bouncing off fragments of hopes and prayers.
Puppets of shadow controlled by all things black; all things empty.
Until the crescendo takes hold, and with a tenor not your own,
you are finally able to say,
I am no longer who I once was.
Leave a Reply