Like slipping through my fingers
I say goodbye as there are no
further words to be said.
I have reiterated all the truths I
could possibly bear and still
the silence treats me like fiction.
I am in love with all that is possible
all that is magical, and with a belief
that dreams are not just fantastical
imaginative whims but precursors
to the real world we could have.
But God plays a hand at this table
and for whatever reason, has bid
against me and my wishful dreams.
I could be angry and demand
explanation but instead succumb
to a greater truth that not all truths
will be real, and as such, truth is
subjective to the whims of the heart,
a heart that will, for as long as this life exists
be scarred by the unfulfilled, unrequited
romantic overtures made over some twenty years.
I can live with this reality, as no other way exists
but deliberation on the failure to reach a more
blissful fruition, will undoubtedly haunt me.
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