Still. Moved.

Still, moved  like two
fragile leaves, not blown
in a wind that cry's around
them. Motions left stolen
from our eyes. Ready us
for another try.

Flowing rations of sensed
needs to those things we
become. Us chased for so
long our passions garnered
wrong.

Reflections cleared, left to
lay on still pools. Visions
never reaching us as right.
Images of kindness are our
dark as night. Tried an true,
still left longing and blue.

Drops falling to the ground
racing to an end. Splash together
then part as rains last pieces are
rushed down. Like us, where
they and we begin again. Others
coming after us and them.

Together falling as parts, then
the clouded thoughts tending to
our unfriending roll in. Undoing
us begins. Paying for meetings sin.

Moved, to chance this standing
known from what we have already
almost grown, only needs to take
root and be nurtured by us to meet
its doom. Never allowed to bloom.

Still, like two fragile leaves one
loosed and freed, yet not moved
in a wind that cry's around it. We
are left with motions stolen from
our eyes that ready us for this :
The bliss of goodbye.