@d-pendNearer, come and see the lines and shade
of joys, of pain, of strange perfection made
by nature's touch — within her womb she grows
all seeds that most propitiously he sows.
You have seen little, still so little yet—
closer, come and glean the silhouette.
Dearer are the minutes, seconds spent,
behold familiar features loving-lent
their beauty by familiarity:
unmarrèd by the sad disparity
of separation's mind. Do not despair,
but come unto the field — yea, meet me there.
Closer, come and gaze into the eyes
of one as young as grass, as old as skies;
nearer, come and see the lines and shade
of joys, of pain, strange imperfection laid
a blight upon the pleasure of warm day;
closer, come and take the scourge away.
You have seen much, so lay your eyes to rest—
closer, come and glean the silhouette.
Dearer is the poison than the cure;
for in the sickness one is ever sure
that peace is not so flimsy as it seems,
all the same — come take my darkling dreams.
Stay with me, and make my midnight calm;
closer, come and be for me a balm.
Nearer, come inhabit dwelling place
of one more ancient than the human race;
closer, come and trace the sillhouette
of all the wonders that you've never met
who in the shadows sit, where moral eyes
blinded, nothing see but the demise
of known, familiar, face of the mundane;
come and sit under the summer rain.
I will come, and I will let the stream
flow down and wash away my callous dream
I will read the lines under the shade
of balmy afternoon, exquisite-made.
Dearer are the hours spent with you
than years apart, wherein I never knew
the medicine and balm of simple touch:
I never knew a soul could love so much.
I see so little, even less I know —
closer, nearer, dearer — let me grow.
________________________________________
Original writing and photos by
Published on-chain — April 18, 2020.
_____________________________________________
