.
Go forth…
          Into the deep sleep.

Swaddled in the shroud
marked with the words
you’d let fall,
not from loose lips
but the determined grip
of calloused fingers -
that had danced (with purpose)
on parchment,
to the unsung verses
set to inspire minds
and tempt stagnant tongues.

Go now…
          Before the rest of us.

And as we raise our hands
in gestured farewell,
our eyes would tear,
and our hearts would bleed
into the wake of your sojourn.

.

Do our minds align?
Just as our fingers once did….

The skins of our palms would kiss,
and hold true to words unsaid.
Clasped indefinite,
and they mirrored in gait.

Never unsure
and never faltering,
they danced in determined embrace;
leaving no room for the tendrils of doubt.

So tell me…

Do our hearts still align?
Just as our beats once did…

A flow so eloquent,

it almost explains the reasons

behind unspoken meanings

and blaring untruths.

A voice for the mysteries of my universe.

Even though it trips in gait,

and speaks in babbles.