Fallen Poem by Ballerina With Fins

Oh! The sly old Tom we once used to know
is no longer apparent in our whimsical dreams
of dreary Life and yellow yesterdays. Tom,
with one conceited eyebrow arched
to a perfect 80 degrees; Tom, with spectacles
in hand and theatrical smile on summer skin;

Tom, who was our Yesterday, Today,
and Tomorrow and yet is nothing
but is also the Sun's morning rays
reaching, yawningly, for the touch of the sky,
and the silence that was implicated in his own
disappearance.

Tom who rose, Tom who fell but picked himself up and
scabs made inconspicuous by the daze of
pure wonder; Tom that conducted the Orchestra
of the Morning with the dazzlement of brilliant
sunlight; or was it Moonlight then?

Oh! But the Tom that we used to know
is now gone. The tom that we used to love
has now faded away, coming to us
only in a vivid splash of Once Upon A Time
forgotten reminiscence of yesterday.