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by Poet on the Piano Sep 2, 2021 category : Miscellaneous / Misc. poems
On that October eve, I was like a gazelle, springing into the air to avoid your predatory glare. It had only been a week since we visited my parent's farm, finally meeting again after decades of disappointment. We lounged in the barn and fed the animals and sat at the pond, watching the minuscule ripples from orange leaves and heartache. At night, the moon lifted our spirits, as we slow-danced in the newly painted gazebo, a slightly withered daisy tucked behind my ear. I should have taken that as a sign, that we too, would wither. All of your warmth, the fireflies lit up by your eyes, all of it dissipated when you traded nobility for greed. I saw the change in your shoulders, the softened edges now hard, aggressive. The moonlight was no longer a silver beam, dancing with grace, but a monument of glass shards. I didn't know you, (maybe I never did). Though you and I barely made a sound, I thought the world would be just as startled as I was. Yet, no one noticed. Now, I refuse to ever be like you, letting the avaricious pressure build, steam erupting from a geyser, elements of surprise and no redemption. I will catch you by surprise too, someday. I will catch you, first.______________________________________________ written from the prompts in the main forum: gazebo, geyser, gazelle