Sunday, January 4, 2015

Stuart Harlan Cone

Yours is the name I want to speak to this dark night of one-thousand regrets
In hopes that with it's utterance you would break forth incarnate
made from the milky threads of distant galaxies and the dust of millions of stars,

Forming into the one person
whose loss has left us with an
empty, black sky.

I speak your name with reverence and trepidation
like holy words from an ancient prayer
but you do not appear.

And yet this longing won't go away.
The agony hope won't go away.

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