Like a Young Man

It must be done: soft Mercy
'on the treacherous of Road.

 

You are the indelible impression,
the imprint on my chest,
why I cannot breathe
effortless, like a young man
finally, again,
after countless years of toll
upon my everything.

 

The branches part
for the memory of you
brushing aside all life
to celebrate
in death
the dream of Time.

 

We were fools, placeless,
cottage’d on the Isle,
wandering the Sea-soaked
sands of rebellion,
but never brave enough
to set out on the waves.

 

Thus, dearest, I have left
to go to greater places,
where your Voice
shall swirl in my ears
like the brine of the eternal
oceans of my loss.

 

You are gone.
You are gone.
In a moment’s damnation,
I am bereft and forgetting
of the charm that stole me away,
and left solely with images,
I cannot tell now whether
I invented or extolled you.


10/09/2016
Richmond
after Inception

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2020

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada