Abided

Max Meunier

Max Meunier

how fragile has’t thou yet become
to dust
doth dew surrender

so poignant
at my finger’s tip

find we
this toll of time’s enrapt

the end of days
wast nigh to wend

whence winter aged
again, anew

dissolved
into some drifter’s daydream

spent with none
but thee

here
still i

forever falling

far away
from erstwhile truths

gentle
in thy weakest waking

eyes awash with druse

endless angles
intercepting rays

what ways
wisdom did seldom know

these woes have since awoken
to the wisted water’s
faulted tide

where hides the filament
of fools

for this
am i

to brandish bonds

submitted
by thy love’s abide

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