Could we, wedid we?
Or was it a dream, a fleeting thoughtcaught on the windand then gone.
Wouldn't,
couldn't,
we just watched.
The moments, like water,
slipping through our fingers.
So no.
It’s a wordthat hangs heavy,
a closed door.
Can, can not.
The future, a locked box.
Could, would.
The echoes of what might have been,
a faint humin the background of now.
So we can.
We can,
and then we can't.
Know.
The simple act of knowing.
The sharp clarity,
or the hazy blur.
Couldn't.
Can not.
Can't.
The triple strike,
a definitive end.
Would it?
Aquestion whispered,
barely a breath.
What, whispers for?
The silence answers,
a vast, unyielding space.
I'm not askin',
a declaration,
a shield.
Yah, am?
Aplayful turn,
a dance of uncertainty.
The rhythm of possibility,
then the stillness of conclusion.
We stood at the edge,
of what could be,
and what simply was.
The air thick with unspoken things,
the potential, vibrant and alive,
then fading,
like a distant star.
Could we,
the soft opening,
the invitation.
Wouldn't,
the hesitant step back.
Couldn't,
the stumbled stumble.
Could,
the brief surge of courage.
Did we,
the question that lingers,
unanswered,
unresolvable.
So no,
the finality of it.
Can, can not,
the constant negotiation.
Could, would,
the lingering ghosts of desire.
So we can,
the present moment,
stretching out.
Know,
the quiet understanding,
the acceptance.
Couldn't,
the past firmly shut.
Can not,
the present’s firm decree.
Can't,
the future’s unyielding wall.
Would it?
The question,
a fragile seed,
planted in the garden of doubt.
Whispered,
a secret shared with the air.
What, whispers for?
The wind carries the answer,
or perhaps no answer at all.
I'm not askin',
a statement of independence,
a refusal to plead.
Yah, am?
Amischievous glint,
a challenge thrown.
The words,
like pebbles skipped across a lake,
rippling outwards,
then settling,
into the deep,
calmwater.
1779
