I dont know this shirt;
a white one with button all close
wrinkled and yet pure to my course
it gave me warmth and a simple oath
for I knew its not mine to own.
I sat enclosed in an oval chamber
in Rome with a mind of ruckus clamber
welcoming slowly a bitter slumber
by turning pages of those last few chapter
of a white shirt, soon yonder.
Closing my eyes I saw that smile so clear
with yellow eyes and a breath so close
a touch of depth I felt to soar
crippling my mind yet no anchor to shore
I bled that night, oh Lord, on that white shirt fore.
I craved for that heat to melt my heart
to unfreeze that frozen beating melody apart
yet we ran towards each other like two lost verses
of a perfect musical tart
fitting yet unfitting into that beautiful humming draft.
Today I see the end and so did he,
the cracks I held too close to see
it broke with a bang that white shirt flee
I tried to hold the pieces like a witless me
but alas!.. in vain as it cut me deep and cut me free.
I bled that night on that white shirt fight
like a little girl asking her daddy for the full moon bright
not knowing her place and knowing her like
but he held me close and held me tight
as i could not bear the pain of that torn white shirt sight.
And now I hug a souvenir,
of starry night and a fairy light hill
a sleepless night and a walking trail
I seal the white shirt with a stamp not frail
and turn ahead, with valour, to the next chapter and a peaceful gale.
-dedicated to this unique person who taught me how ephemeral life is.
spottypotterson 