Once Again

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By: S. DiSparti

 

I don’t know who you are,

This man nor the parts

That makes the man who he is;

Etched into this unknown heart.

 

With phosphorescent eyes, I peer

Into its depths.

So far beneath the surface,

So far beneath the fear.

I watch enraptured,

Curious and captured

By all the majesty here.

 

But what makes the man;

That continental divide

Between water and land

That makes him human?

 

Is it his heart?

Sanguine, yet sovereign

To all rhyme or reason?

Where the arrow aims,

Piercing the flames

Of love and hate?

 

Is it his body?

This vulnerable skin?

This sac of bones?

This face that mirrors

The world upon which it stands?

 

The heady scent of sin,

The sweet that dances on the tongue,

The smoothness of perfection,

The sound of the autumn wind

Soughing through the dying leaves,

The sight of dawn washing away the eve.

 

Is it in the mind

Where memory of life

resides?

Permeating the fleeting fabric

Of time.

Of that first kiss,

That first glimpse

Into something new

That now belongs to you and me?

 

Or is it in all of these

That I am me and you are you?

Does a body need

A soul to breathe

To know that it took a breath?

Something that only time can rend

’til it’s ready to be weaved

Once again?

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