To give is to dispossess;
to possess is the crown.
Still,to possess is the crown.
a latent feeling begins
when you break a bond
once presumed,
yet,
if a rose was never yours,
how do you give it up?
If naming what is leaving
unleashes your own void,
you become the wind
chasing your will
not to come undone.
The real crown
always moves away,
never to be possessed,
and yet,
it's a realm of life and fire
hidden from sight.
Move, love, move;
if what remains
is the defiance of gravity,
then let us be what remains:
the rain falling toward the sky,
our earth melting into magma;
my love.
Behind, echoes and ghosts
—possessions
undone by time—;
ahead, a passionate one
—infinite loves
rising beyond every crown.
Wherever the Council of Poets
remains in silence,
it belongs to whoever
becomes their silence.