Essence
Essence
They’ve told me I walk tall.
I can’t tell I can only
know that she’ll never be
as old as I was when we met,
the words of this thought
amuse me in the way
she would say the same
on that sentiment,
a lover stuck in time.
I feel sticky to the progression of days,
days that I can never lay claim
to be mere mine, but rather with
a constant brush stroke of omnipresence
found in soothing pricks of sunbeam,
dairy free ice cream
and ruminations of morning.
Days I can only share
in essence.
I refuse to mourn past beauty,
past joy
preferring quite stubbornly
to bathe in a selfishness of grief.
A shared selfishness, in fact
in terms of essence
the selfishness of grief can’t be singular.
But still retreating from open arms
and warm hearts
finding solace in the greed
of an odd shaped heart
stained with union of human connection.
Because death not only scares us
but humbles and alienates
and remains, lives
in an ironic kind of way
and still wins against us all
or gives back maybe
(‘win’ is surely a strong term
for a partner of all for forever)
who gives back maybe
some nature scrapbook
floating all around us
a scribbled spirit guide
we’re always absently reading
yet the truth remains,
death still takes us all
eventually
(if you’re lucky)
in terms of eventuality.
During any daily strife it’s
bubbling under tempered ground
known by many
beaten by none
as if days can still slip
idly by with constant divide
and her paradoxical presence
a little eternal tickle of the soul
a forever divide
an eternal essence.
