He's loose bills in the wind,

please don't let him go.

Don't let this be the moment where "my all" becomes "my best,"

The moment my head's no longer strong and it becomes unused

Don't let this be the moment when the mind cannot have peace and the eyes cannot see beauty;

where the land of milk and honey becomes the land of fire and brimstone.

Don't let this be the moment when the day has no light and the night has no sky.

The moment when our coallesence is disconnected,

when we are over and I no longer can be joyed.

The moment the hands of time seize to turn, and the sands of time are all but gone.

If for nothing but to be intact, please...

Just please,

Don't let this be the moment all I saw of we is swept beneath the rugs of hope,

when all that remains, asleep.

The moment all that's left of we left is the I;

The I of all dead aspiration.

The I, who I once was becoming lacerated by the blades of an image inconceivable to sway.

The moment the I, deathly alive, shattered..

Shattered into memories within the glass it was encased.

Don't let this be the moment the I inside me died, when all it took was love, a one you couldn't find.
© Christopher Newport Brackett