Phoenix Blossoms

How can I hold this with my own two little hands?

How do I stop this from flowing right through my fingers?

From dissolving? From becoming one with the ground?

All I have known is loss- it has become second nature to be given something and already mourn its’ inevitable parting.

Nothing stays, but everything goes.

I remain, yet it can’t show.

My voice tender, my eyes soft, my intention pure- in the world’s deaf ears.

Unseeing universe.

Taking, taking, taking, with little give.

How can we stop the passing of time?

Criticism on admitted imperfection is nothing but useless subtitles.

Unbeating heart. Time eating flesh.

I yearn to hold her hand one more time.

Wondering why, short-sighted sky.

Try and try and try and try,

But I cannot erase what is done.

I can only try to hold what is.