Slow Passing Of The Smooth

He can see,
she can hear,
and the children play.

Where moon is silver,
where ground is breaking,
where heart is unconditional.

At nights of constellations,
at days of desperate toiling,
at places of finding the truth.

The craft of beauty,
the sound of breathing,
the home of limitless dreams.

His strength is human,
her head with an invisible crown,
and their laughter is an attraction.

I find a superior,
I settle for comfort,
my litany does not end in grief.

Permanence becomes temporary.
One watches the other one in the
slow passing of the smooth.



About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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