Unspoken

The ballet of death
as much as
the ballet of life
is sewn and performed together
for one without the other
is nothing but a memory
of that unspoken thing

and all together
we move through the rain
where bows and roses bloom
knowing that come too soon
is that, unspoken thing

we shelter our souls
from the rains of humanity’s
tears
hoping there comes a time
when she gives her sign
of that unspoken thing

our feeling hearts
our tremulous blood
our awakening eye

thine distant shore
comes to the fore
as we dare to speak

that unspoken thing

for love is nothing
but a coming together
of life and death

for without which
we cannot finish the poem

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