The Season's Of An Instance

As she sits there
Sleepy headed with
Dreary eyes
You catch her scent
And forget your wise
Hard learned
Lesson
Her skin is fair
As moonlight bathing in
Cosmic ether
Hanging low and seductive
On some great
Horizon

Celestial

Smooth as a worry stone

You'd like to rub
And sooth 
Your own pity
While she sighs a sad sigh
Her beauty doth not
Falter
She is wonder and wonderful
While you are foolish and a fool
She'll be leaving soon
But aren't we all leaving eventually?
Departed on some blind bewildered journey
Of fate or
Poetry
Eventually succumbing to the
Foul shadow which is ever present
Under every breath
Taunting the soul
With open face
Constantly
Won't we all eventually shake hands
With our maker
And roam no more?
Aren't we all leaving soon
In some way?
Is not every moment some
Form of murder and exile
Of something
Present
Be it breath
Or hair 
Or simply age 
Is it so cruel to enjoy
The now
Even knowing that the now
Will someday be then
You think of the alders
Singing their secret silent song
An ancient hymn
And wonder
Do they weep all summer
Knowing winter is rolling in
And their fruit will be bitter wine
Upon their naked limbs
And would you pass
A wild rose and not stop to
Revel in it's
Wildness
For the mere fact
That one day it's pedals will
Fall
Exposing only a thorny skeleton
Some boney joke
Told around a table
Poised atop the grave stone
Of all our daily doings
Perhaps the metaphor is not
As close as you would like it to be
Perhaps the ideology is
Less finite
Yet the thesis is conveyed
Poorly as it were
What of allegory in the face of
Real life
Instance
Real life
Living
Oh, she has a face
That is impossible not to kiss
But you must not kiss
For her immaculate lips
Wish not to taste
A poison which may become
Habit
And sweat beads your brow
Lighting cigarettes off of cigarettes now
Shaking by the bay
The ocean has breath
Which smells of hardy
Spirit
Bereft 
Of all wanting but one
And that is
The
Final
Joke
Told quietly by a laughing Buddha
To a scolded Christ.