:::lotus et nenuphar:::

the waiting for warmth
and the water is fierce
divided by quanta
aging my years
where sweet song in the morning
has dampened my smile
i angrily await
the dismissal of trial
enslaved by the moments
that have passed behind me
the lotus and nenuphar
moved softly to see
the lips yet unparted
scenting hands that did meet.

i have fell through the seasons
in the fall i remain
quiet and still
playing solo on stage,
they can look oddly, examine my shell
gives them a change, a story to tell
appearing so slightly
amused by the bit
decadent fools with
property to split
i bide time watching them
them struggle to see...
and conversing with creatures
who look just like me.

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::