Sinkhole of the rendered soul,
Strong grip of sympathy's gravity;
Burden of minds now come undone,
Ever-plunging weight that rends my chest:
Is your allure any more than deceit?
Are petty charms the extent of what you emote?
Somewhere, I know, she cries.
Do you hear?
This time, forever, she leaves.
Do you care?
Possible—ah, no; she's not.
Had you hoped?
Perfect, no, but close, she was.
Did you know?
Timepiece on some plastered precipiece
They call a wall, you hang and see all, tick all;
Starlight from greatest distance, farthest flight:
Turn ten thousand times like the musing of my mind!
Is your loveliness as real as mortal flesh?
Are your coying dances for my eye, or tricks of smoke?
Somewhere, right now, she speaks.
Do you hear?
This time, for once, to me.
Do you care?
Possible, everything, but desirable?
You won't say no.
Perfect, yes, the timing, without trying.
For you, too slow.
Lying sinkhole, fruitless burden,
Mindless timepiece, idle starlight:
Nothing to me!
To her, I shall seek and follow and pace,
In time undestined by romances of heart
Or emanations of a youthful rage;
She'll leave, as necessity demands,
But I'll stay here, with ever-open hands |
Submission Name: Perfect Timing
