Little by little, the wounds have festered, withered,
For I stand on a crossroad and none of the roads lead to you

Stuck in an agony, enduring what you give,
In reminisce, suffering the ramifications you bring

To be haunted by the living, a curse no charm can undo,
And everything that exists, exists only to serve as a reminder of you

For they have given up their identities, Serving only as devotees to your pernicious recollections

Somehow every little thing about you,
Is more magical than the one before

So here I stand, cursed, a shadow in a world full of light,
A creature of the past, living for times gone awry

For I live still for every little memory of you,
Preserved  down to the last freckle on your nose, a perfect little archive

And if my love, that is all there is to my existence and nothing more,
I can wish for nothing better than to be a shrine to you

For what is it, for which all the meadows exist,
If not for you to walk through them with your skirt pulled up to your knees?

And what it is for which the winds scurry,
If not to touch you closer than my hands ever will?

For ever if a rose blooms, and the morningbird sings,
They do so for you and for nothing more

For everything beautiful in nature, and my archival existence too,
Exist for not a thing more, other than you

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s