Maybe I've taken more time, than would you
to ponder and consider...
And maybe not, but perhaps I do,
to learn the probable outcomes,
of times, through and through.

There is a sacred Geometry to fortune,
a forbidden set of plans!
Words and worlds put in tune,
and miracles put in clans!

For I stand parallel to the world, where I'd exist...
A formula of division, and slanderous gifts.

Exploring as i may,
every possibility...
Every dance...
Burning, as i sway,
Every paper to work,
every glance to a stay...
Every memory, every stance...
Every blazing day!

Every lingering minute, I'm carved in stone.
Every spoken thought, is a glimpse unbourn,
into another moment; a candle blown!
every moment; there,
I rest in bed...
Brings upon a universe,
that is here once, then is shed...
Withered like tears, that once they're gone,
this word I have left, is all there is... In stone!

All within the very dialectics of a chance,
this riddle it seems, given... And every dream, a trance!

Sweetest dreams, O' darling you...
for it seems, the mourning has come,
as words are silent, and kept a-queue!
Gentle replicas of our thoughts,
humble as this dew,
brings the world a smaller place,
and brings my words to you!

The pieces that arrange together
are strange to our dialogues, dear...
And surely, they are few!

A.r. Bazian