What system are you going to fabricate tonight?
A clear way to discern black from white?
In which all spoken intuitive fiction
Can become, once and for all, conviction?
Or will it be a new solar one
In which bodies of mystical mass
‘Circle’ a serene and older sun
On mountainous elliptical paths
They walk in warm times, and in colder, run?
Yeah your mind shines
By the grace of your pretty eyes
Hiding behind a scope of some scale.
Oh those pretty eyes…
Oh, with one tiny glint in your tiny eye, I see reflected the terrifying image of that towards which you put all of your hopes, though they return to you in bastardized parody, your songs though they dissolve in the acidic numb of space, and your soul though it is swallowed in what feels like unrequited love.
It is that glint that is all that remains of our eternal promise, once so expansive and so felt. Together we moved horizons, making mysteries and solving designs. But I see now it is only you that had kept this promise; that you have resolved not to take another step without me, even should this resolution bring your loyal heart to screaming lassitude until the last of the mind’s imaginings collapse in on you. To this point, my daughter.
Forgive me, I lost you.
© 2011, Amaya Engleking
*I originally included the first part of this poem in the post, Homesick Angel, but thought it worked well in this context as well.