Ribmeat Of The Family Tree

Less the ifs, ands, or, buts...

9-28-05

After hours watching reflections
my eyes again trip
on the light that catches my heart
and begin sliding in that direction.
When it became you I learned how it felt
to have everything change to new
and how to act in the clumsy closure
of releasing the past
while fuddling with the controls
of current systems.
If anger became a gift you were its curse;
if language was love you were my words.
The sun rose to your afterglow
and I merely and modestly rose to you
and your four seasons
of underlying distresses.
There's no need for me to cast stones though,
for I'm always the calendar to your time
and your schedule is bare of me.
Perhaps the mirror you wear your face on
will someday show you true
and help you as much as I could've,
the way you should've been shown.
I have no sense to harbor regrets
nor time for similar comparisons.
What could've been said, should've;
what never was done must've,
and we walk away,
reflections lessening up ahead.