amorphous
the vitality that exists
under blossoms

For a moment
She is
And notices
The fun
That comes
With pretending
She is
Distinct
And truly
So,
So long
As she recalls
The pretense
And recognizes
Who writes
The role.
And in that moment,
She is love.

A hail to the moments, which were left in a haste;
unpraised, unspoken.........
A look into those moments, whose memories have become;
an immemorial token.........

Half sunk in those sands,
Half buried in those memories;
Lie those moments somewhere,
Which once had been our cherished trophies.........

With some lies, spoken for some truths,
and some truths, spoken for some lies;
Confined to be castigated for once,
But, finally lost in those million tries.........

This universe is a strange place,
A voice then slowly whispered.........
There is more sadness, to be coated,
As compared to the happiness, to be filtered.........

And so
I am condemned to my loving you
As the ramshackle house, at a street terminus.
But no one prepares you
For the destruction of it
Inevitable
As heat death
Or crumbling mountains
Or the folding days
And as all is brought back
To grass
To earth
To moss
To modicum stardust
So am I
For
Like the house that the brats burnt down
I am condemned
Like bones to ash
Or hearts that roar.

my pasture will be paid for
courtesy of the Veterans Administration  
grass above my bones will be under “perpetual care”
cropped square, green and never allowed to be with ****  
much the same as it was with me, when I was ten and eight
and taught to hasten others to their own plots  

I fear some of them became feast for maggots
or the wild dogs’ jaws, deprived of a bugle’s clarion call  
a politely folded banner, or serenely composed, lugubrious pall
their eyes were not closed gently, with a loved one by their side  
the night came to them amidst man made thunder,
fire from the perverse steel  

in eventide’s charcoal stillness  
where I await my inevitable “agricultural” fate  
their faces appear on the ceiling, faintly,
waiting for my company, not asking
why I am not yet among them, not knowing
the mutual mad marching of our feet has been replaced
by something called years, or that their humble silence  
has left me with yet greater eternal fears