Too Real
She was too real for my youth,
I was stunned by her,
she came to my eyes
so unbearably perfect
that her very presence challenged
belief in any other.
Her beauty seemed reborn in every second.
No longer was time my jailer,
no longer was I a chained thought
locked within a silent skull.
She freed me,
I became a bird in her hand,
there I flew to her fingertips
and sang ethereal love songs
songs that had never touched
the earth below.
Years later, cruel time cursed me
with dull black eyes
in which her star could no longer shine.
I forgot how to love her,
forgot how to be simple.
She had become an ice-figure
carved out of my unthawing memory.
It seemed to me there,
in my shallow grave of undying loss,
that she had never happed,
but it was I
who had never happened enough,
nor sang brightly enough.
Then the night came
to dig us both a place
to be lost in.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
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