Requited Past

Assume infinity in the face of finite,
finding solution in darkness rather than light.
Black burns always loved to scorch beautiful beings,
from the look on your face, no one ever told you meaningful things.

Liars hold hands with clocks until they pass away,
minutes believe they could truly last hours.
Honesty feels like a double standard to pay,
when your rules crumble like self-inflicted towers.

I appreciate your smile, your benevolence;
they are all just stones in my garden of malevolence.
And the brook flowed that afternoon without a damn,
the flowers on either side would never understand.

Our origins still flow continuously, evermore.
Within our souls we taste memories once so vivid,
but they disperse as the sky absorbs them and pours.
Finally, we flow separately as our mothers pollute the river in a manner so livid.

We reflect one another in the image of ourselves,
pressing against the agony glass as the hour delves.
The river is gone now, dried up and replaced,
but flowers dared to grow there, a mutual retrace.