A dark poem of let, fleeting, and presence, holding fear, fracture and survival in view.
March 16, 2004Early Notebooks
Appearing for a time, just to let them know,
a fleeting presence, a soft, brief glow.
Special joys, a self-pleasure assured,
a moment of bliss where doubts are cured.
Turning guides, yet losing sight,
caught in illusions that fade with the night.
Disillusionment seeps into the soul,
where fleeting pleasures take their toll.
For what is joy if it slips away?
A touch of warmth that cannot stay.
A transient love, a fleeting game,
disappearing as quickly as it came.
Still, we reach, we grasp, we yearn,
for the fires that briefly burn.
Knowing full well they cannot last,
yet chasing shadows from the past.
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