The Irony of Every Beautiful Thing

Let me write now alive and well
Roaming in my thoughts
Like I have never roamed before
My heart in pain and soul in anguish
Freed
From all the hubris and make belief
I bear the coldness
of my naked solitude with pride
I will not budge,
I will not hide
But  I ask myself:
What difference could I have made?
She’s like a broken water fountain
On a warm day
The thirsty stand in line to take a sip
But all that she can serve them are her tears
And as I stand in line and wait my turn
I’m writing these few lines
To keep me company
I’ll never have her
Although we could have had the world
That’s just the irony of every beautiful thing
It’s always at a distance,
fleeting, beyond reach
But no
I will not budge
I will not hide
I’ll stand under the scorching sun for days
Until her tears and mine
Pour their way into a stream
And share some journey
Towards a setting sun

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