And even after all that time had passed;
my moon had set above another sun,
it seems my heart was still at odds with past;
my tongue at war with words I left unsung.
This bed of ardor caught between my teeth,
will thus remain, and even grow post haste,
where all the while, there's nothing I'll bequeath
excepting flowers scent, above my waste.
And so it goes with every vacant beast,
as twenty-twenty sees - I should have done!
I should have said; I should have been, at least
a man awake to seed his endless sun.
And as the night descends upon my thought,
remember son these words that, I lived not.
© Kristin Reynolds 3 11 09