Fifty and two moments ago,
You laid against me, a piece of fragile glass,
I couldn’t move, with fear of broken pieces,
Being stepped upon, with split flesh.
And so, I would press my hand
Against its glossy surface,
Push against the grain,
And watch the world pass me by
Through its clear, ill faded windows.
Can glass wilt away?
Deteriorate under the glare of the sun,
For in a moment’s time,
I looked up, and you were gone,
And I went to press up against that glass,
The protection it gave,
And I fell, and tumbled, and flew,
Through the midnight sky
And into the arms of the nature
Of past.. Present, future.
Always there, always have been
Hidden forms of me.

 
Copyright © andthisisme987, All Rights Reserved