Never close enough
I've buried and mourned the loss of many things in my life.
Matter of fact, I've buried peices of myself on more than one occasion.
Sometimes, just for the memory of could have beens and things that were,
I visit that stone temple that I constructed for the bones left behind.
It is then that I realize, and appreciate the pleasure in things that have passed.
I've died a million times within my own heart, and soul.
No wreaths, or black dresses to mark the occasion.
Only another stone atop the temple,
that houses the strings of the heart that were severed.
hidden and remembered only by me.
Candles are never lit to mark the occasion,
only thoughts remind me of the pleasure in things that have passed.
The soul that cried soon died, and a new life gave birth to a heart
that learned to see death as a beginning and not an end.
For, had that girl not gave out of breath and determination
the woman that is here today could not have been.
The temple is high and sturdy now,
it houses many dark and dangerous moments.
Moments of the heart, buried, yet still alive to remind
The pleasure in things that have passed.
...On days like today when I remember the moments that I
have placed within the temple...
I pitch a white rose from my mind, and kneel for a word,
with the girl that passed, and I know that she is proud
of the woman that lived to tell the story
Of how one can take pleasure in things that have passed.
A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life, to be thankful for a good one.
-Majorie Kinnan Rawlings-
[This message has been edited by timothysangel1973 (08-24-2003 12:37 AM).]