Grow Not Then

Has gone or passed this shade of fainted blue?
This circulation of blood not full yet dark blue
Burned and buried long in turn with yearning,
Yet still turning, never getting there

But in a sudden there, there with seconded sight saw
The blue it, which downcast, spelling
An image into ground descended
Sprung out of heart a long-borne love
(Whose colors too few chosen make visible)

With heart and love then dies
A phantom of deluge, hazed and dashing
Arrows at a leaflet, in gesture still tinged with
Coursed events of naked, green, wicked, life

Delight for years of general tries blended blue with sparkles.

Hues of winter, springs of bells, vibrating banishment of the life far too oft not acknowledged and gloomed through a looking glass tormented along a torrent of glue looming in the bite of an irregular fruit whose injury proves ominous save till once who will glimpse the fountain gone?

Grow not then, for it will banish this fountain gone,
As the Evening rises in that twinkling hour, when it became
Backs bouncing in a lake of blue ripples, that reversing motion
Still written in the deep dark glistening blue

The God of my Heart is the God of my Soul.

Whereupon it rained, said the shepherdess.
It shined through, that day, wrote the shepherd.
Was it dignity?, added she.
Were it not for your pride, chided he.

For indeed it had been so many hours, so many years, so many forevers ago, that she had beheld her sanctuary. With all her pride she had beheld it. And it was gruesome, for God's presence filled the paradise.

So beautiful, so splendorous, was the place, darting about her dreams, her brightest sunshine, that such a world would never cease again.

Words that were left to render it present became a continuous thread, woven along the specks and glitters of Time Itself. Of all that ever was, ever is, ever will be.

But memory is never lost, whispered she.
Will you then ever find it? breathed he.