The Stroke Of A Cloud

sweet friend
i sit alone staring out a window
watching the shadow of a cloud
moving slowly over a field of grain
gold changing to deep amber
colored in seconds acre by acre
color so fine like satin linen
i cry seeing this without your hand in
mine

I don’t know how it will be with me,
attachment is a terribly difficult thing to undo
like a sad passage of poetry, unrelenting
it makes the heart as concrete
and nothing hardens so much as the angel
who's task is to extinguish the candle
pressed down it smothers
carrying tidings her eyes look to another's
shine

if things had been different, in ways impossible
if through enchantment mysterious and glorious
something played upon the affection of our hearts
and my fondest dream was realized
i fear my joy would have been just as much my ruin
i’d be just as much the same undone
to have you close it'd be too much
since the simple ringing of a bell is such
decline

and so sweet friend if the God
who paints a field with the stroke of a cloud
who would change the beauty of gold to the beauty of amber
such that it leaves the grain talking in the field
dumbfounded, full of joy with a subtle fleeting change
for such as us how big the plans to arrange?
certainly to expect a prince would not be to ask too much
nor to take a star that shines so far away and make such
mine
daniel13 daniel13
46-50, M
Aug 6, 2010