The mind is only the breeding ground
   only in the heart is true wisdom found.

.....and the last
shall not be forgotten
(the first has been laid behind)
the touch, the kiss, the embrace
this moment clings
closest to heart and mind--

farewells have been many
this, this is the hardest by far
our love is not meant to be
we know this is the deepest scar-

the last is that which will last
its poignancy time shall not mar
all that I could say is in these few lines
before restless time rushes in such to bar.

It's too late
much too late
to fight, deny
or walk away--

it's too late
what's done and said
is imprinted
in time's template-

it's too late
a new course to take
the past stood on
before---it's dead--

it's too late
too late to recreate
the song has taken flight
the poem has been written and read-

it's too late
the heart has been hurt
love has turned away
the word is absurd-

it's too late
all that's left
now is to drown
the self in the sea of regret.

The beginning hints of  the end
the way back to it the end its nexus finds
a day or a lifetime is purely subjective
in separate and myriad individual minds-

life is lived most in the in-between
where both the beauty and terror lies
the human drama is about personal survival
in the aridness of the self that's far from the kiss of paradise.

Poetry is much closer to music than prose, however lyrical the latter might be.
The latter impinges on the immediate senses while the former is of a much more subtle, profound, sublime and transcendental nature.