Lost in the somnolence of his solitude
The poet’s hell
Lies in the heaven of his existence
That he cannot see
With eyes closed
And back turned towards the future:
His game composed through endless hindsight,
But no sight for what is here…
But I am here…
And I looked into his eyes…
Lost
In his dualities and questions,
Frustrated with only heaven’s silence for an answer,
He vowed to fill the world with words,
But still he stopped to listen to mine:
“Do not feel the guilt of change
As words seem to lose their meaning
As they fly away from your tongue
And drift into the sky.
In this moment together
Do not fight time as it moves forward
And wait forever for abstract completion,
That escapes us even now
As we dance
Into the present’s dawn.”