She blushes
turns to face the winter window
“It will be spring soon. . .
How shall i ever find my way back into the sun?”

I lift my hand
a show of humble supplication
“I was wise once
Seems like forever ago. . .

But some things are not to be known
Least of all the means by which water finds its way into the sky
after falling in darkness

There can be no knowing of the script
a tender burgeon remembers on the how of being a flower
a flower it has never been. . .”

She walks to the light beyond the pane
Sighs a silence ages old
“You poets know nothing but lies. . .”

She has become a shadow in a halo of light
I turn to look past her, out the window
“Then breathe your love into my lies
That they might transcend this humble page. . .”

She says

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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