Alas

Alas, the dream you once had, fades from your eyes,

Watching footsteps past longing eyes—

The weary smile which marks the greatest goodbye.

Those hands, soft as silk, sharpen the blow—

Beauty comes, beauty passes, beauty changes

Like the seasons or leaves that dance merrily

Upon your head on an early autumn afternoon.

It’s not the words you speak but those

That get lost somewhere within your throat

Which cause your grief.

It is not the tears but the final gaze

That lingers—becomes a memento of

Ephemeral grace.

Alas, all the days you could have described

Humble brilliance became lost in reticence—

Caught beneath the greater umbrella

Of your fear and reluctance to speak.

Beauty crumbles, beauty is built up again—

Beauty is plastic like the script you read.

You are captivated with kindness, the simple act—

Of compassion, which evades you such.

The deepest sorrow is built, from

The illusion you built—dreams—

From which you wake, to clear your head,

Desperate to return again—to the moments

Of timeless grace

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com