I walk along the narrow banks of ‘what has been‘, to search for ‘what use to be‘. A pool that whispers promises of tomorrow, casts not my reflection of ‘what could have been‘; but mirrors ‘what has become‘.
The Song of Echoes, mock from the breast of an owl held breech, which clings to the great tree of wisdom; 'who are you, who were you, who-?'
If the sun dares to kiss my face to discover breath anew- why then, have I not captured the phases of the passing moons?
Upon the shores, afar; I see ‘her’, I know this spirit, so fair; although she has not yet, met me.
To beckon her, I recite the farewell lyrics of a weeping rose who mourns the end of her season. I sing of the blossom petals which carry upon the wind to decorate the heavens, for eternity.
-The spirit maiden appears before me.
Her beauty is laced with innocent mystery.
The fragrance of laughing lilacs, her youth.
Her smile- the first taste of wild berries, warmed with early morning sun.
Every diamond which embellishes a night sky, ignites the wonder in her gaze.
She is the blessing of an open meadow.
She is the sands which write the tales of time, beneath my feet.
She is-- me, when I was.
She offers her hand for one final dance. Barely do I kiss her fingers, as she tilts her face to the heavens and begins to cry. The tears which fall from her eyes, are that of my wishing stars.
I quickly reach out to catch one, but her body dissolves to birth a shimmer of rain; returning back to the dust of the earth as the whisper of a lost waterfall.
I realize now, that my visit upon these sands, shall not be my last.
Although my season for ‘what could have been’ has come to an end, my search for ‘what is yet to be‘, shall always remain.
As wisdom etches another symbol upon my brow- I attempt to find my path upon the shore, which has lead me to this moment.
However, the footprints of my journey, have forever been washed away- by the tides of yesterday.