You may not remember meeting me.
I’m just not that memorable.
Though I’ll never forget it.
I imagine it was like my first time seeing a candle.
Though I’d seen it before.
I thought it was just a dream.
I couldn’t have imagined you were real.
The moon was waxing gibbons.
Tempered spirits that never as so much crossed paths as to crash into one another.

Is it a measure of strength, resolve, or stupidity?
To say I love you.
Knowing full well,
you’ll never hear those echoed back.

Now I’m just an old man.
Waking up everyday.
Heart in hand.
Holding it up to the sun.
Only to watch it pass me by.

Not much will be said about me.
Maybe a passing thought.
Though at least it can’t be said
That I didn’t love

I can’t help but think
That there has got to be
At least one perfect
Combination of words
Lying just beyond my reach
So
I keep writing
In the hope
If even by accident
That I find those words
I have to
Because
Writing I love you
Didn’t work

You there lad! Fetch my quill.
And the ink bottle there on the windowsill.
Now fetch more coal and parchment quick.
And shut the door lest I get sick.

There’s this thought that has come to pass.
It’s about a thing that wouldn’t last.
Forgotten people worth forgetting.
A different song in a forgetful setting.

Long ago I watched you by
Some passing stars up in the sky
I set about to know you then
Shooting stars don’t shoot again

It’s that person that you’re sure you know.
If not from now then long ago.
And there you are so sure of them.
But you don’t know where much less when.

But then there’s this unspoken thing.
Annnnnd I just lost interest in going any further.
This is just awful.
You should go shower.

I’ll probably just take a walk through the stars like I would a field of wheat.
Run my fingers over the reeds of starlight protruding from a time long dead.
Spend a day with the sun. Take a nap on our quiet moon.
Then I’d like to awaken in an ancient forest by a silver waterfall.
To build a fire. So if you should ever want to find me.

I never got that sunset with you and now my skin feels heavy. Auburn moons and crimson leaves, yes. Not one sunset though. Dragging my quill like an oxen with its plow, my hands as blind as they are always seem to find you.
Tell me again. While I can still hear you. As if it were a whisper from the other room. That something you say from under your breath because the power that keeps you from saying it is failing you.
It feels bound at times. As if hindered by barbed wire. Like a lamb that was frightened by the storm only to find itself ensnared. The more it struggles, the worse it gets.

Just prop me up against the fire and pour me a drink.
My seraphim gave up on me today.
She couldn’t stand the cold any longer.
Hence the blood and broken glass.
She covered herself with the first pair of wings.
Told me where to go.
Unfurled her other two wings.
Took off like a **** in the wind.
And I'm pretty sure she stole my butts.
Because I can’t find them.
She said something.
Something about futility.
Practice something.
Oh. That’s right.
She said I'm a practice in futility.
In the distance there I can still see the fallen windmills and burning bridges.
A stray dog stole my last shoe.
Cerberus I think it was.
After Pan tied me to this post.
He said they didn’t know what to do with me.
That’s when I gave it all away.
So when you find me.
Tied to this post here beside the river of fire.
No shoes, bitter, and with nothing to validate who I am.
Just know.
My seraphim left me today.
And I’m positive she stole my butts.