Apart

Being apart from anything that was one a part of you.

Musty old book full of memories, I keep you still.

That lucky old moon sees you every night still, oh so still.

When I died she said, I saw it coming in the crystal ball.

Glory, boring fall when you were all along alone,

I almost painted with my coffee and drank in my paint.

Yet the lord has made this pleasantry to complain of,

Thus I belief in him for the mother and father do exist.

There’s your hat’s hook where it did hang that time before.

Nothing to do but draw a line between the past and now,

Still a line can be erased and the past I continue to chase.

Yet I turn my head to look back one last time, to be done.

One lingering glance, one last chance, till set in stone,

I will be gone. No longer, No more to think of you. Never more.

If I hide indoors, will that be enough for you- alright with you?

Check what I choose to loose, an olive branch waits at the doorstep,

And I feel that what was delicate has become rough and coarse,

But wild as always, untamable as always, I bolt like a horse.

I know that I teared my white bellows and drapes in the wind,

But it was false to begin this taming, I am too dull now within.

This passing day and each other day piles high, each paper thin,

Until I no longer have a thought nor a sense of time to begin.

A jealousy, an anger rises in my throat towards that moon, still.

How she sees you ever night while I alone flip back pages at the sill.