Thursday, June 4, 2009

The Branch That Might Have Grown Full Straight

O to end a thing so beautiful, O to exhaust the infinite
O to bolt the doors on a summer day and to close the windows too
O to resign to the unprolific and to be at peace
O to watch the sun set and to remain alive
O to draw the curtains and break the illusion and to call it an interval
O to read the final chapter and to live with it
O unpronounced O to drink the rivers dry
O to lose an argument with the winter wind and to submit to the end
O to outlive the lilies in the dooryard
O to abandon the pursuit of the horizon
O to think O to force the hand of fate to any end
In accordance with the mind O toothless logic
O to kill the fledgling in the nest
O to cheat oneself with reasons and to hush the pangs of the heart
O to lock within one’s chest something as complex as love
O to be a man and to lack the gall
O to wish only and dream of the unimprovable –
I would that we were two butterflies that lived three summer days.

P.S. This one is in imitation of Whitman (who has been the central influence in all my endeavours lately)

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