Good Bye

Woven poetry

What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The luster of the eye?
Is it for beauty to forego…

I wanted to know what it was like before we heard voices.
And before we had minds to move us through our actions,
and tears to help us cover our feelings,
and before we had bare fingers.

I looked through parted fingers to soften my gaze.
Watching that frenzy of insects.
Remembering you and our love.

When we last parted,
thou wert young and fair.
Now both are grey.
Yet still remembering that day.

I stand quietly.
The stalks grows,
the year beats on the wind.
Apples come,
and the month for their fall.
The bark spreads,
and the roots tighten.

Four years,
I recall the many years of pain,
I have suffered…

Though today be the last
Or tomorrow all,
You will not mind.
I shall not be with you again.
What we knew, even now
Must scatter
And blow
Like dust in the rain
.
Let it be forgotten,
As a flower is forgotten,
Let it be forgotten for ever and ever,
Time is a kind friend.
�"Yes.
To feel each limb
grow stiffer, every function less exact/
Each nerve more loosely strung.

To see the world,
to spend long days,
from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And heart profoundly stirred;
and weep, and feel the fullness of the past,
The years that are no more.

To suffer this,
and feel but half, and feebly, what we feel.
Deep in our hidden heart
Festers the dull remembrance of a change,
but no emotion�"none.

T’is to have our life,
mellowed and softened
as with sunset glow, a golden day.

And as a tree with all its leaves relaxed,
can shiver at the memory of wind,
remembering from now and then.

I inhale.
It is�"last stage of all�"
With drowsy head and folded wing,
my soul radically whorls out of my body,
among the green leaves as they shake
the phantom of ourselves.
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost,
shake the very Heaven on high
with tumult as they thunder by,
gazing on the unquiet sky.

And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings�"in moving air
seeing It's swiftness that seems still as noon light engage with the coherence of light beams, instant as though
lightless, or the colored light of a dimension not yet arrived, as our hearts are not
outside affinity with respect to wavelength, shaping meaning, using the capacity
for feeling to sense
A space opens and awareness gathers it in, as at night my dream is colorless and
weaves into the nuance.
then with feeling I
fall back down to matter, and my future self
opening out from this sight.
Then try to separate what is scent,
Sense,
Emotion,
And What you call memory.

Where a movement extends to time,
that little time with lyre and rhyme,
to while away
�"forbidden things!

My heart would feel to be a crime.
Unless it trembled with the strings to wait for what comes,
and to leave what is over alone.

And the parting is sweet and the parting over is sweeter,
And sweetest of all is the night and the rushing air.
I am glad the journey is set, In a long forgotten snow.

I am glad.
I am glad I am saying goodbye and riding away,
Whither and why I know not nor do I care.
I am glad I am going,

Reviews

[silverwritinggoddess]

This was very beautiful and lovely to read! There's nothing like speaking (or writing) from the heart! Thank you for this!

[Alucard6336]

Hey this is beautiful. Every line is an intricate stitching in what could be a person's heart. It starts and ends on a strong point. But, if this person in the poem had their life changed for the better, would joy cross over their soul?

I wouldn't change a thing here. It looks like this a product of much time. Is it? I would like an answer, if you could. This poem enraptured me. Great work :)