i first met you under an old tree.
An old sailor on my first voyage,
your song rang out like a siren
(now, i wandered and i wondered)
our melodies resonated in harmony
though melody became harmony...
and harmony became dissonance...
while dissonance, once again, became melody...
could i?...
(of course, can is a question of ability)
should i?...
(of course, just to prove you don't)
body through the air,
head first into the concrete,
a shattered spine.
(i told you that you don't)
(as i got up to walk away)
i heard an old willow weeping in the wind.
i flew to the top on broken wings
to comfort it when...
There...
was a lone Girl, sitting amongst the branches.
The thorn in Her side was a mirror image of mine.
suicide, manic, depression...
She sat there gazing into the sky,
naming each star one by one,
so that they might feel love.
She turns...
(and She's beautiful, lovely, almost expectant)
She turns, nonetheless, to me and says (naming),
"I shall call you love, for we've never met"
Now, everynight we soar through the cosmos,
on our broken wings from the top of our old willow...
Hoping the daylight doesn't bring us back down like gravity.
visual art for Mourning Morning (Rhys Ki's request)
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Comments on Mourning Morning (edit; Rhys Ki's request)