(no subject)

[svrider650]

It's an impossible fantasy
but it will never leave
for it returns every year
with the dying of leaves
and the upspring of fancy
somehow it became entagled
in the leaves that fall
dazzling in their circles
as they curl past your face
somehow the etchings of yellow
hued brown and red blossom
spoke like words, from your lips
to me, that I wanted to hear
save for the deafening quiet
of these woods, and this ground
my tumulus of golden gems
and beautiful whispers.

I can't see past your eyes,
and I never could tell
what you wanted to say,
past the tyranny of what you said.
Couldn't this dream, just spill out
bursting out from inside my mind
out onto the barren white pages
of this tired script I rehearse.
I never knew why the tremors and pauses
or fluent promises your lips murmured.
I made them what I wanted,
but I always knew I was lying to myself.

This I know, tonight, by autumn
I know that there is truth
in the soft blue shimmer of the moon
from your skin, and the warmth I sense
despite the cold outside.
There is promise in that simple...
simple smile on your lips,
and the way the the wind chants:
"love simply, love pure.
Love like a toddler his parents,
utterly devoted, utterly essential.
Love not with the commitment to honesty,
but the inability to have it any other way."

Truth has a way of distorting in the morning light.