Trailing a chased desire turned memory,
Age creeps and twists to white life's diadem.
The bench of old men sit in reverie
Asking wisps of air shimmering before them:
“Where did our time go?” Hours fade and turn.
Withering petals whirl and glance to ground.
“To dust?” Not yet. Ashes of flesh still burn,
Yearning for the touch of a lover soon found.
Hidden among pale towns in and out of mist
She dances on lanes of glittering stone.
Outstretched arms encompass all and, kissed,
Inhabitants touch their cheeks, each alone.
Wonder grows and grows to eternity.
Human and being wrapped in mystery.
A Thread You Follow 