a symbol

There are these words.  These words that come out from my head to rest on the air I breathe.  But I don’t know what they mean.  Mostly, they just stay in my head.  These words are afraid of freedom.  They roost inside, laying their eggs of stagnation.  The tired bags that lie beneath my eyes tell tale of the spoiled ova, forgetting the freshness of crisp air to float away on.  Long flaxen locks hide the redness of my hardened lips that remain closed.  What now to see my sunshine through this windowpane.  A mere glass broken pain whose wings are ready for flight.  Rest my cup beside me, fill it with the ocean.  This pungeunt air inside my head will gather its salted dew.

as time is

reaching a hand up over my head I pick a morsel of past
then cast my atom to your heart I wonder if it will last
I reach again in blind attempt and find myself a boulder
turning my head to you once more these eyes see you’ve grown older
I stretch myself one more time curious what my hands may find
and look again to see your eyes but weep when you’ve ceased time
I choose once more to seek the past this time I dove too deep
we swim no more we found our way to a restless timeless sleep