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YOUNG
LOVE,
It
Drifts Away
At
the time we had met the mask of youth
And
its costume were still upon you.
Then,
the next year, 9/11, it marked the city forever,
Downtown
burned, towers had fallen, and all the dead,
Though
today, very hard to believe,
The
smell dominated the air,
Yet
there it was during the last days of December.
All
the way to West 26th Street,
A
bad omen, I guess.
I
remember that first Christmas Eve,
The
one prior to the attack, later you confided,
It
was your first, and the only Holiday Season,
You
had ever spent in New York.
You
were different then, more girl
Than
the grown woman you are today.
You
had bought silver jewelry,
I
was at market and you stood before the showcase,
Studied
the pieces, awaited me to make the move
And
price to drop, bargained without word,
Used
patience as your tool, you figured,
I
was in a hurry, wanted to get home.
It
seems halcyon, as I look back.
Business
was good here in the City,
The
year before the attack.
When
I picture you, recall your eyes,
Expectant,
be-all, the end-all,
Tomorrow’s
promise, stayed awesome and bright,
I
want to say, etched,
But
no lines, at that time, visited your face.
You
were different then, more girl
Than
the grown woman you are today.
And
you appeared happy, light upon your feet,
I
judge your back had not come to bother you yet.
You
had a man, and you relished in his friendship,
Maybe
you wished the start to family,
Saw
for yourself a real, happy ending, hey?
My
defenses were still intact,
No
idea that you would come to play
The
lead role in a dream-wish drama,
Whose
title read, cherished, cherished above all others,
Yet,
once I fell within the sphere of your limbs,
All
good sense and sensibility abandoned, I was yours.
The
pleasure of your company engulfed me.
Simply
placing my hand upon your knee,
Oh
heart beat, beating fast, lasting long, day after day,
Together,
no matter what I might have done,
However
I might have conspired to end it.
You
said, love, now and forever,
I
know it’s trite, nothing I should write,
Unworthy
of poetry, your promise,
Yeah,
until the end of time, and you,
Today
I feel, as if, you had purposefully played me,
You
laughed at notion, desire might ever wane,
Though
love might be only a feeling,
You
swore ours here to stay.
2.
Anyone
who seeks,
Fervidly
wants dreams-come-true,
Gets
the sense of what I am saying, knows
The
terrible desire, that were it possible,
A
replay of yesterday’s grassy splendor,
To
enjoy again the glory in the flower,
Despite
the rapid descent, the finality marking,
Every
bit of human radiance and beauty,
No
matter how grand, ambitious the effort,
--
Isn’t it already written? --
The
rainbow comes and goes,
Some
where out at space-time’s edge,
Gamma
ray bursts post daily funerary notice.
Entire
worlds disappear, who calculates that agony?
No
human comprehends the sorrow;
Number
and immensity overwhelm us,
And
we might simply shrug our shoulders,
What
answer when first pain, then life no more?
How
impossible to variegate the progress,
When
once we have reached finality,
Great,
bright light, then extermination!
And
for us, for you and me, it is same story.
Anguish,
the very definition,
To
cling to silly notions, and hold them right,
When
the telephone is off the hook,
And
all the doors are shut.
World
knows, love, only a feeling,
It
drifts away, and, I, fool, believed, I believed,
I
thought at odds, forgot the foreboding,
Paid
no heed to events, the remains, I forgot
That
one happy Christmas does not guarantee another,
Instead,
sure we had mastered our affections,
Our
land, the land called Eden,
Positive
we had won, and continued the delusion
That,
and as you had promised, ours was special,
And
contrary to every dictate of reason,
I
had come to believe that we had found it,
Love,
here to stay, warm sun, morning after morning,
Endless
awakening, fresh flowers everyday,
A
bed with gorgeous sheets and pillows fluffed,
Despite
love, it being only a feeling,
Like
the youth, we at one time owned, and
Had
been our possession, it drifts away.
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