Time Sometimes people want to prevent the oscillations of pendulums To choose the frequency of the movement of minutes And turn the hands of clocks back a couple of centuries while Wishing they could control entropy or the rate of randomness instead. Excessive waiting was wasteful, it eroded the other's expectations Like flint whittling away at the surfaces of floating coral reefs Withering our avenues of action like scattered rose petals on coffins in cemetaries. It was like carving out a vast void of hollow emptiness while Searching for scraps of time to cut with pairs of sharpened scissors I was the penitent pigeon that I fed, pecking at crumbs as remnants of recall Summoning up streets where the breezes of your breath and memory still blew. I used soap to lather loneliness across a body dampened by disillusionment Your symbolic sentiments like pieces of paper shredded Even before the meanings of those thoughts were manifested. You wanted reconciliation of our elements like rare Eclipses merging the sun and the moon's alignment I used to think your mantras were verb tenses in motion Seeking to maintain the mockery of past unestablished relationships. We travelled towards different summits of horizons in the midst of your waning energy Through bisected roads which didn't converge into concentric circles or particular paths I didn't know when I started or where you ended on this journey. A fusillade of coughs mixed with fervency and fear Were the whispered words of silent machine guns with Bullets which were thorns of taciturnity that Pierced and fragmented a glass menagerie of dreams As vanished wisps of smoke, life is more ephemeral than it seems We should have helped steer one another's souls to shore, I should have Grasped sturdy arms and glanced into blue eyes for steady seamanship Locate lighthouses while navigating through channels of change and uncertainity It was too late for whispered chants from uncovered calyxes of chrysanthemums I sang the melodious but melancholy hymn of a lover's dirge to sleep every night. The plumage of a peacock's feathers were reminders of a magenta and azule skyline Of the cheek of dawn filtering a mind's saturated smog, and futuristic fantasies Following an eventual epiphany and a multitude of repressed revelations by candlelight.Birth sign: Not entered
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