How the night seems to define,
The idle moments with his mind.
Everything has gone so well,
But for, that which . . . he cannot tell.
Those things he keeps tucked deep down,
As smiles keep facing all around.
But in the silence, in the warm,
A sense of loss sometimes will swarm,
Around the tales I’ve told the man,
As he tried to understand.
Why’s the charmed life not better?
Why his best ‘ways in a letter?
Carefully crafted, in detail,
A casus belli in its scale.
Until new tales take the place,
He still sees that pretty face,
So close and yet so far away,
Without a word he can say.
So, he often sits and waits.
For the arrival of his fate.
He leaves questions to happenstance.
A slow and peaceful, longing dance.
It’s not unpleasant, all in all,
To live the dream of a fall.
A fall in how his spirit’s down.
From highest hopes, to feet and ground.
Those feet, well planted in this earth,
Through milestones, from precious birth.
He does not know what this is for,
This dance with whom he will adore.
“If I long the rest of my days,
I’d cherish all I’ve had always.”
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