Aetas

is there … any flesh as tender as moonlight? are there dreams that dance as lightly, as those beams upon the nascent skin of youth? I held them, once they trembled in my palm like wild wonder and spilled to the real world with a hope, gilded - a garland of inspiration and desire laid at the feet of destiny and worn like a crown in silence … such bitter irony - I taste bloom on my tongue it is as rare and sweet as springtime - the petals, as soft as evening but all that meets my gaze is withered and worn the mettle of my marrow, weary … pray, how does a man avail himself of a spirit as bounding as sprites when his matter has moved beyond the autumn? please … I beg you, dearly tell me May will come again say to me that this circle, Life spins on-and-on and those passions that still stir within will find their proper bearing not waste like laurels thrown upon the tide … please speak hope to me of treasures to turn inequities to put asunder and hearts to break achingly … in rapture for I can accept ANYthing from you … but pity even … a lie. Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, February 12, 2023