I’ll Remember.

As I touch the river that trembles upon my weak sunlit torrents upon a gentle lick of lilac,
And I shiver upon the pale wisteria of the eventide like a wounded deer,
For I wonder upon the dark lavender skies, and their cracked gentle weeping rivers
That glint upon the surface below the Acrylic golden trees, and their blossoming tormented thunders
Upon a weak shallow wind that calls to me and its wrath, like an arch or flicker of a rendering shadow,
“Show me your world and its marigold dreams, arrayed with a perishable wind throughout the age of cold,
And I was beside at the dead shores of a red sky. Sometimes, I’d lie on the dark marble, and the maple outside was a cry of fire to the hems of the gliding memory, and its sweet gentle roses…”
But, I, oh no, I was beside the wanton rivers and it was cradled by my fluttering heart that kneeled
For I’ve killed the flowers, for I’ve bruised the ripe fruit at my feet in the ashes of the garden,
And I’d remember as it were to be upon the glance of a pure dew, so frail and gently crying upon a trembling bough, forgotten by the lay of the cold that leaves me there.
There is the stillness of a reverie through the coursing twitch of a divine radiance passed the scars of the sea,
And in ghost memories, in time, in an innocent caress upon the remembrance of the past,
I am amongst the dark and soldiered walls, betrayed by the sleeping of lights, and the sleeping of blue flowers,
And I’ll remember as it were to be upon the yielded stones that blaze, enchanted, on broken elbows,
With scrupulous treads among the ivory cobblestone, fashioned with an angel’s triste wings,
That is redeemed by a dying fire against the ancient stick that brushes against our feet like the angry fallen rivers,
Their fury, their world within their sage cries throughout frail rocks,
And I’ll remember in the ninth parable, or on the moment a proud tendril curls around my feet as a wholly flower that laughs in the downstream of its shadow, and it was silent as a dream,
I’ll remember as it were to be upon the torrent nightmares among the trill in the collapsed fallen stars
That merely quell their light, that darken and bruise upon the sands I reap into my hands,
Into the seeds and I admit, in an estuary filled with broken haulm stems, I cannot recollect or remember the winds that softly mewl
Into the new world of shawl, brightness, and I cry that it makes me see your world, and I pray that I can see it, that nakedness through the coverings of hemmed leaves,
And I see that it may as well have been a tint of silver in your eyes, like craters of the moon,
There is the stillness of a reverie that rests in dying pauses, and I’ll see through the golden autumn,
And I’ll leave in the early evening before it hits dark, so I can watch the stillness in the stars,
And how they light for anyone in their soft hollow lights,
And I’ll remember as it were to be as the gleaming sunshine domes over to leave me alone,
And I rest upon a kindling blush surf where silence finds itself alone on a bleeding river,
I’ll be there upon the withering lights in mid-dark and I’ll remember as it were to be.

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5 thoughts on “I’ll Remember.

  1. I can recall one critic (it might have been me, at my age I can’t remember) to test your work by writing backwards and trim the fat. The heart of the work should still shine. I am always more concerned with what I leave out in the images I make, the technical term is “selective dropout”. Hehe!

    Liked by 1 person

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