TRAGIC Poem: Just Married, by Wildhood

The language we speak is aging, already old.
Will the fog burn off today?
We are still good at catching our heart strays,
agile though they are, aging though we are.

No fights still – but is that due to fog?
You were so much light when I met you, still are.
And you make so much light in me.
Even if no children come from our us.

I thought everything I left, which was everything,
to be with you was ash to me—or would be when I was gone.
It is even more alive, more blazing with light,
which it would have to be for me to see

from this far away now. Is it everything
that looks better from far away?
Or only that, when you get real close,
you can see that everything really is dust.

Author: poetryfest

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