Sunday, November 15, 2009

The Death [and the glass]

when this world no longer turns but hangs dim in some other sky
when stories are mute and none promise ever to spin out from lapping tongues
these forms once draped in cotton and gold
(and rotten and mold)
now forgotten now old
(now cold, un-told, sold, the saddest most tantalizing ode)

amidst frozen stars these two again for one last time stretch out arms towards one another remembering fondly those awful crimes and stroking firm wounds matching maligned they dance that fabled dance and grasp from the universe some practiced  design and make a score a thousand times performed once more once more some sweetness burns some kind old phrase hanging delicately out on the edges of time remind these pieces these heroes these fiends that there must in some perfect mind be a perfect version of a perfect prize and then their fingers let slip their grip but not with horror nor with glee nor pride but with honesty for once this time with truth with hope with grace replace that false design with just a smile a simple sign from one edge of the empty divde to the opposite side of endless time two massive spheres of absolute each as grand as the other press together and for once after all this time say good-bye.

.gather round this priceless scene yes drink in this final turn for no reprise for this dancing pair will rend itself from the archive.

~look across the divide~

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