Branches of a solitude that was never meant to be my own.

once more,
branches of a solitude that was never meant to be my own.
Yearning of a life where the winter is not as cold
where the night not as dark
and where you, lonely traveller,
are not so alone in your journey.

Silent snow that still falls in the lake shore
water that freezes as touch by serenity.

There used to be promises never meant to be broken
in every path.
Truth is I never thought they would be carried till the end.
Or maybe, deep inside I thought that there was still
my innocent beauty in the universe.
I guess I thought my stars would still care and planets would
still rotate in their axis of ether.

But the fifth no longer lives as it is only a projection of the self;
branch never to exist in evolution, creation developed in the gap
while mother comfortably slept by the light fireplace.

The wait holds still in the same spot it has ever
for my flying conscience to whisk me away from reality
back into Reality.
Diamond rings of solitude where the sun only shines when the blue
of mechanics rises to disrupt the infinite course of the statics;
impossibility of movement that still breaks so easily to an outsider.

The dance of the three queens, each of their own thought
and that, it turns out, not so different after all;
ray of defining, centre stage where the pool of white and blue
showed the world the reality that is every day but contained on each.

For the non referring that has left me, like many faces have
A confession never to be understood; never to be realised as true
or placed anywhere, everywhere.

I still say goodbye to you and yes, I could never let go as quickly as you could.

Maxwell Black
January 17, 2010
07.55pm