Catherine Heath
May 2020
Write this down,
A paper note,
Indulge
Your curiosity.
You know this isn't it––
Days sliding by,
We're urged by hands
Compelled by rhyme,
Though locked in sands
Of time.
You know this isn't it,
As hollow laughs
Ring out the room
That coughs
With rusty keys
Of strange,
Enchanting melodies.
She sees the range
Of her last days
In cloudy dreams;
Her elegy.
It seems
Her time is running out:
A crime
To waste these chances.
You know this isn't it––
Say it isn't so.
When I last spoke
To you,
Your eyes were dancing,
And the joke was on you.
Abandonment of
Wasted youth––
A final novelty.
You know this isn't it-
We've roamed,
So far from home
You know this can't be it,
Because
The song is far from done.
We'll climb to heights
Astonishing,
Before this life has won.
Credit: Photo by Jerry Zhang on Unsplash
