Soon Is Always Too Late

If she arrives soon it will be too late. The one who makes you weep like sparkling rain, happy to be her joy, her pain that one will come too soon; for you will be gone your longing just an echo in a music box. Kismet is for Arabian Nights. The bright points of departure and arrival are always moving, nothing is fixed, some blink on; some blink out as if they were long lost wishes upon a star map. When she waits for you you will have found another. When you seek her she will always be beyond the next streetlight in a foreign city. The rain will weep, the poetry of loss will remain unfound, yet if she returns entering your life out of a missing yesterday then let that be your future a tomorrow that arrives as timeless as a song yet unsung.