Between volumes and syllables.
From a piece of paper
Folded with smitten hands and
Hidden between
Books of lesser interest to a
Young heart in first love,
To the isles and isles of scrolled
Knowledge lost in the blasphemous
Fires of Alexandria, my story
Remains only for as long as I
Do. Punctuations and dreams
That will forever matter less to
Another than their own. My
Story is my doing. My being.
My loves and dislikes.
My failures and successes weigh
Exactly as little as names of
Kings and gods long forgotten,
When printed with other drops
Of the same ink as theirs.
I love my girlfriend's answer
To questions of an afterlife:
*"I hope it all ends when it ends.
I have been given enough.
Give my space to other souls.
All I am; all I have,
I am comforted to think I only
Borrow."*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
Between volumes and syllables.
From a piece of paper
Folded with smitten hands and
Hidden between
Books of lesser interest to a
Young heart in first love,
To the isles and isles of scrolled
Knowledge lost in the blasphemous
Fires of Alexandria, my story
Remains only for as long as I
Do. Punctuations and dreams
That will forever matter less to
Another than their own. My
Story is my doing. My being.
My loves and dislikes.
My failures and successes weigh
Exactly as little as names of
Kings and gods long forgotten,
When printed with other drops
Of the same ink as theirs.
I love my girlfriend's answer
To questions of an afterlife:
*"I hope it all ends when it ends.
I have been given enough.
Give my space to other souls.
All I am; all I have,
I am comforted to think I only
Borrow."*
