Perennial

Ever have I longed to ensnare a moment,
As the child seeks to pluck a star from the winter sky.
When the sun has set and the leaves whisper your name,
In the deep, dark of night when alone I pass the time,
When the boisterous rumblings of my companions cease,
And to blanket I take but a remnant of your touch,
It is in this darkened hour,
The pale flame of far reaching love begins to flicker
And silence fills the empty space.
The den of dreams grows lonesome and dreary,
So stare I solemn from my awning,
And behold my little view of the world outside.
Where time goes on and lives may turn,
Ever constant and merciless.
But although my eyes look toward the expectation,
My heart is caught in the incorporeal
And my mind is subject to the quondam.
Here, in this little house of regard,
Time holds no weighty measure.
Clumsily I grasp for the friar's lantern,
But find only the white seeds of aspiration.
No pain dwells in this Elysian edifice,
But subject am I to the ethereal emptiness,
To which I lift my pen and I open my heart.
The dust will never settle
For every dream is as new.
The flame has grown lustrous.
And all is amaranthine.