the fifth lapse: methusala?

the strength of an echo
as if fields were falling from stars
and the cosmos a dark wind
stirring even more the whispers
of trees into breeze and back
unto chaffes of leaves grown
coarse by the sun's distant
reminder of warmth or
the breath or at least breath
warm and released as
if one knew
the deep counsel of the falling
leaf and to follow
another leaf, perhaps, another
tomorrow.

why try grasp the voices
or sounds? why make sense
of silence when the loud presence
of today is not yet ended?

stretch this way magnificent
echo and sleep from this death
the night in all its dark and in its
stage
bow in confidence
as you find
this scene
quiet all about
the silence

There is no banter
there is no truth ..
Only visions of the mind
in which it must peruse ...

I have heard the arguments:
I remain unconvinced;
but a shadow amidst the stone
the soul cannot rinse ...

Harmony.
Moving as one.
A body big, yet delicate
and fine ...

Is it real?

These thoughts
to the mind
can feel?

I have never thought a think so true
as when I strolled the streets with you.
Arm-in-arm, eyes akimbo, a glimpse
a thousand words more plenitful than sand.

When amongst the strangers I found you,
my hand, and held you strong, in spite of
the throng - the drunken money and charm:
a wilting pedal of truth ...

When the words of others failed
the truth of a glance prevailed;
there is nothing left to own,
that cannot be stole ...

There are those
that cannot consume
the power of ambition;
those that think there is more
to themselves,
than actually there is ...

I know these people, have shared beers
with them - and they show no remorse,
no concept of truth ...