Friday, October 12, 2007
dust-winged Silence
when i was but a child
i tried to catch them in my palms;
the touch of first love, the immovable moments in time,
the distilled essence and scent of feelings.
All iridescent butterflies
always alluring and alluding me.
Flights of fancy upon my finger,
making me chase for short-lived joys which
i couldn't seem to catch up to
now I am no longer a child
and I see things the way they are;
motes of sunlight and moonbeams,
intangible,
transient yet lasting.
They are fascinating but I'm frightened to touch
these fragile things.
Because I've seem too often how these crumble
under the weight of a word, a gesture,
Honesty, Truth and Pride.
Things, they change either way.
Pieces of dust choose:
to float between emptiness
or to sink to depths-
un moment à se rappeler
. a moment to remember.
