As We Are To Each Other

I am the reminiscence of you, since you were once me – stirred among the strings of sense. I am the reminiscence of everything you love, since the vivacity of things you praise most. I remind you of dark of the sky enlivened by stars, blue, Or grey miasmas scurrying towards the horizon. Or I remind you of undaunted tide of time clenching fist against you, Or perhaps, I remind you of the marionettes of dead Danced by twisted delusions. Perhaps I am horror to you, or joy Of trivial surprises which you long for with avidity, But cannot quench your insatiable thirst. Perhaps I am your reminiscence, really, Of stardust slowly fading somewhere in your past sojourns. Yet I could have been me apart from your reminiscence, Instead of an endless strive of hauling eyes above the sea of us, As I know, the corpse of poets’ floats for a show While the living ones are dragged down to be trampled.