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aj-jaconoPoems
It’s too late to go back, My love, To when you said time Would stand still, When the sun sat behind The trees at dawn, When the leaves fell For the autumn And drank the dew Off the sappy grass meadows That rolled out beyond your toes. It’s too late to go back To when you said Always, Always is, always will, And now it once was, Red moons and black petals In distant sight. It’s nighttime now. Although your face sits in the sky Like the moon, twinkling gray Somewhere beyond the stars, The day is much too young To wash away the dust Or guard your eyes against The lips of a dying love Like a raw cut waiting To scab, to mold over the memories Lining the blood you tried to stanch. But it’s too late now, Too late to lie in the trees Red with sweet clay Sometime in the mourning light, Too late to count minutes As they’ve wrinkled past years, Too late to tell yourself That you can still stitch together The broken seams below the patches Of the skin you’ve shed. Time bought you long ago, My love, And sold you To the wardens Of burgeoning eternity. Their horns wail loud And only you can hear their sound.
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Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
Wardens of Time
It’s too late to go back, My love, To when you said time Would stand still, When the sun sat behind The trees at dawn, When the leaves fell For the autumn And drank the dew Off the sappy grass meadows That rolled out beyond your toes. It’s too late to go back To when you said Always, Always is, always will, And now it once was, Red moons and black petals In distant sight. It’s nighttime now. Although your face sits in the sky Like the moon, twinkling gray Somewhere beyond the stars, The day is much too young To wash away the dust Or guard your eyes against The lips of a dying love Like a raw cut waiting To scab, to mold over the memories Lining the blood you tried to stanch. But it’s too late now, Too late to lie in the trees Red with sweet clay Sometime in the mourning light, Too late to count minutes As they’ve wrinkled past years, Too late to tell yourself That you can still stitch together The broken seams below the patches Of the skin you’ve shed. Time bought you long ago, My love, And sold you To the wardens Of burgeoning eternity. Their horns wail loud And only you can hear their sound.
#love#regret#death#day#night#eternity#sunset#sound#horns#wardens
aj-jacono
Written by
aj-jacono
American
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
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