What Isn'T
It’s almost gone, I see, I hear
I shall perhaps wait it out with you, my dear;
It scared me then, naught scares me now
The sparkling of an even unknown
The thin line that longs to know how.
I will show it, and mayhap you?
But the time is yet to come.
Wait there, sit there, patiently
Your finger that clasps your tongue.
The sun is rising there beyond the hills
The morning calls without sweetness
Things fly about with eager shrills.
It is why we wait, why we long
For things that are not there
Beyond the reach is a thrill
Knowing the absence of a perfect pair
Knowing that become, it never will.
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