Too beautiful not to share first..:
We dance through these seasons,
spinning and flowing
Gracefully, tragically
We think they’ll always come.
We’ll always be young-
But then the goosebumps find us.
And we taste that dry cold air
of unspoken despair;
a beautiful knowing
that one day we’ll be undone.
And as beautiful as our existence has been,
So too will there be beauty in the simplicity
of our cease.
Are we okay with that?
Do we want it? What is it, anyway?
We’re scared,
Yet we are inexplicably drawn to it.
A threshold of knowing from which we’ll never return.
We’re scared,
A runaway bride on a stormy night
That wants to be free and that wants to be found, by something…
So we run through these seasons.
Barely pausing,
A jaunt through the park without knowing all the trees,
Without smelling the grass and the blossoms,
Without seeing.
The wrinkles come,
We slow down.
Waiting on the wooden bench
framed by the glisten of golden leaves
And fade into the season..
Beautifully.
Tragically.
We see a fellow disappear,
And we can’t believe it, can’t accept that we’ll never get them back.
That we can’t save them from that threshold’s grip.
They’re beyond the event horizon,
And we just can’t see them any longer.
Our face tingles,
Our eyes and lips full, connected in some strange sensational way.
We can’t get them back.
But we tell ourselves its beautiful.
It’s beautiful.
It’s beautiful.
It’s the outcome of this.
So what is this?
It’s beautiful.
It has to be.
Somehow, we have to make it beautiful together,
Dancing until we cease.
