My fingers close on nothing more
Or less than what was there before,
But what is now was meant to be.
This heart will starve in reverie.
So to the next, whichever path
This river takes, what's past is past,
What's next is next... but now is mine--
My gift to me, all bound in twine
And velvet drape. The water's still.
Shall I leap? I think I will.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 5:12 AM UTC
My fingers close on nothing more
Or less than what was there before,
But what is now was meant to be.
This heart will starve in reverie.
So to the next, whichever path
This river takes, what's past is past,
What's next is next... but now is mine--
My gift to me, all bound in twine
And velvet drape. The water's still.
Shall I leap? I think I will.
