A trinity before your god was born,
Beholden to nothing, but owed so much,
Just a babe, a basket, in a stream.
Absent all their melancholy,
Yet full of such despair,
Youth begotten in the prongs of Satan’s fork.
Dismissed by the faintest light,
A love with rage so nullified,
A rage with love so forgotten,
A torch that guides the way.
A shadow speaks through remembered whim,
Forgotten as it plays outside the lines,
Life born, birthed by a single flame,
So living has passed by this aged shell,
Old age, a flame dimmed but still burning strong.
A light diminished, a lamp now turned to ash,
Still burns in the embers left behind,
Footsteps carved in well-hewn sand,
Once-kissed lips left to sing the song,
Abandoned memories too alive to be forgotten.
Thus the tale of life well-lived,
Death sure to come in the living prose,
The pages worn but given life eternal,
The bindings frail but the story bound forever,
The climax of a song that truly has no end.
For there was a time when you imagined me,
Where love was not made save on the fabric of our minds,
Woven tapestry left crumpled on the floor,
The truth set free by a lover’s courage.
Then we danced together in the snow,
Sharing pictures as we twirled,
Gazing into love’s own eyes,
As I entered, as you let me in,
Never leaving, even when the aged light when dim.
In that final breath, in the sincerity of our eternity,
I see those footprints in the sand,
A traveler once wandered aimlessly,
A Bedouin with ancient sand between his toes,
Now sees those footprints led to you.
Thus the tale of a life well-lived,
Love sure to cradle life in his arms,
Life sure to taste love on her lips,
A man discovered life in a woman,
A woman discovered love in a man.