Youth

August 10, 2009
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I stood there--
Feet cold and wet,
Face frozen,
Heart sniffly, sneezing--
tears endless.
Close to me,
under that flowering tree
of inescapable Perfidy
stood He,
tall and gangly.
"Why do you cry?"
he asked,
his red hair, wiry and wild,
blazing, alight with attention.
His eyes--
so Blue, so guileless,
two clear bowls filled to the brim
with the Unsaid--
were so ugly, so beautiful
all at once.
When our hands touched,
I knew-- Eternity
could never hold this much.
"Why do you cry?"
I could have screamed
yelled, bellowed
a wordless wail of woe
and inundate instantly,
with giant emotions,
the little bridge
that held us close.
I could have beat my fists
against his spindly body--
make him stumble,
make him look,
make him see
through my flimsy facade,
my vindictive veil.
I could have loved,
with profound tenderness,
his Youth—

But no,
I stand
and cry.





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