Wednesday, July 01, 2015

POETRY: Complexity


perhaps someday
when the rustle of the autumn leaves
is a whisper of distant breeze
becomes that butterfly that flaps its wings
that time
sometime ago
sending chills down the spine of
the one that turns clay into sculptures
that sings like those sirens of homer's odyssey
the memory of those years
we wished we were there

perhaps someday
we may become
those casual conversations
in a cafe
on park avenue
conversations without words uttered
mere glances
mere melodies
in our hearts
that refuse to let the world know
of a time we once met
in a distant place
some thousand year ago they say
when Time stood still
watching two hearts
become one
and nothingness, hence
to the music of
the rustle of the
autumn leaves
that evening of our contentment

Perhaps, someday
was already there
remembered not

-- ar

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