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Swan Song, part I

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Swan Song, part I

Here I am
    Stranded between this and your goodbye.

Whose thatch is a-glow with fires of Beauty
  That burns my heart,
    unkempt and wild,
Sits atop a countenance borne of a thousand fantasies
  Of angels and fairies and their adorable air,
    That underneath the obvious purity
Lies some hidden childish naughtiness there.
  And though there have been wonder
    Like those seven shades that wipes the sky of its tears,
Or the earth blushing by the sun's appearance
  At dusk or dawn, as a lady does when meeting her lover,
    Or the sight of evening stars on a cloudless sky
Like jewels sparkling spread on velvet,
  None has stalled a heart 
    As your entrance to a scene;
As if pulchritude was conjured from adjectives
  To a breathing thing
    To which nothing has been of equal since.

Yet here I am
    Stranded between this and your goodbye.

Perhaps it has gone unnoticed
      At every opportune time,
   Irises have prayed to be blessed
To be reciprocated.
      And Heavens be thanked! Heavens be thanked
   When favor is given, that completes a day.
What more if engaged in a conversation
      Nay, more, fortunate enough to be bestowed
   With a couple of words
Such as a greeting, or a calling by name;
      Then I would be lost as a child would be in a jungle.
   Unnerved, devoid of the facility of expression,
Frozen as would be a dead tree in winter.

Yet here I am
    Stranded between this and your goodbye.

For every moment that we stood before each other
  Face to face, there dawns a discernment
    By this day and age
A dozen or so faces have come and gone;
  Faces that have caused the heart to prance wildly 
    To a rhythm unintentionally syncopated.
Faces that have shaped the perspective
  Of the panorama of future days.
    Faces that if they were modelling clay
And by some miracle were shaped to a single mold
  The outcome stood before me, face to face;
    Something I have never thought 
Even in the wildest imagination possible.
  Wild-eyed with wonder, a child witnessing the delicate
    Subtlety of a magician's handicraft.

I only wish I could have told you of these.


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