Lingering Hearts
Lingering Hearts
It will start on a golden summer's eve,
when you see her playing with her hair.
A breeze will blow black locks against her face,
and her eyes will raise in bemused surprise.
And past seeds of dandelion and glittering lights,
which pass through the whispering leaves,
she will catch sight of you staring.
And she will smile, a small smile,
a smile as much sad as otherwise.
Your mind will know from the start that you have failed,
but your heart needs the answer writ in stone.
So you will walk to her, though it might as well be a run,
and if you trip you will not mind it.
You will rush to her as a river through the mountains,
following the route that destiny has ordained.
And for a time you will roll the dice,
play a game that was rigged from the start,
but even though you know it you will not refrain;
elixirs and poisons are so difficult to tell apart!
Eventually the tides will grow in strength,
you will spin faster and faster around her fearsome gravity,
and you will be obliged to reveal yourself,
even as you know it will be the end of hope itself.
But how can hope exist if it has no destination?
And is there any destination at all if there is no path?
And if there is a path, how can it continue forever?
No, time has all the power, and you cannot resist her.
So you will come to hear the words you always feared,
and recline for a time in abject dismay,
forgetting the reason why you even exist,
pondering problems that were never meant to be solved.
You thought that your love would last forever,
or at least that is what graced your poetry and song.
The oddest thing is that you aren't quite off the mark.
For many summer nights to come,
you will feel the trace of her gaze and your heart will pound,
and your silvered memories will drift once in a while back to her,
and you will find that while fiery passion often dies,
the fatal attraction to another can never perish.
18 January 2017
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