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Mourning
And suddenly, my heart is splitting into
The painful dichotomy of My Story and Your Story.
And in the Quiet of a blink, therein lies my Life, in
The weave and the waft of you and I.
And I sip rose hip tea from a borrowed chipped cup, beige, in my familiar place. Cool piedmont greens lick my soles, begging chamomile hear my cool confessions:
The relief is but temporary.
Seconds distract from the depth,
Soothe my writhing soul, remove this sadness that renders me naked.
Naked, Before my unknown cerebral judges.
I am vulnerable and judged before those who do not know my name, my face, my story.
My pain.
My Anguish for our lost life.
I am weeping.
Poignant, painful lament for some yesterday I was too puerile to understand.
Wet faced, I stand within my yearning ache, my grief for your absence.
Yet you have no darkening shadow, no slip of shade across your recreant Merry heart. Onward you shall seek, seek seek, seek. seeking onward until you may one day meet peace for the termites that have ridden you apart these many years.
Vanquished, your parasitic vermin by
Screaming my inequities to your novice audience.
Our Foolish emptiness of a lifetime of fault, blame and apologies.
Begging me for your wholeness, your dream that might nurture your dark sad soul into the future.
Would I a thousand lives give could I have understood your plea!
your Vacant query demanding I end your desolation.
Ever still will I be culprit for your blankness.
My mistakes abound.
I see them now, peeled before my judicious sub-rosa preternatural doctorate.
Lacking any thread of my story, save a rusty photo I downloaded onto your disinterested digital memory once upon my Daydreaming Time
They wonder, my jury, how might I be so callous, so dominating?
They know not the days I gave away. Many, the days and nights.
Days when I stared into your abyss naively believing you a mirror.
Praying I might be beautiful, clever, cherished.
Healed.
Rendered whole.
Nothing shall I be but punitive, in your eyes. Nothing am I but a master to you.
You hear not my cries.
No, you have not found your energies. Indeed, you cannot articulate them, though I would follow you serenely, obediently down any trail you command.
They elude you, your faerie, slivering away into your silent torment.
And I am insubordinate, reluctant, sardonic.
Cold. Untouching .
My fault? Your fault?
I cannot split the coffee from the cream.
I am heavy.
The sadness swallows me into a thousand dark shadows that no tea, no flower tincture soothes.
I am naked raw before my indurate tribunal.
Blithely you make you way into some neoteric association
demanded by your
Epiphany.
But I know I am not a stranger to the recesses of your heart.
A thousand times I have prayed, hoped, wished you out of your nadir.
And still you sever me like a rotten appendage
Weeping, caustic, grievous, savage.
I am despondent even as you would paint me calculating or divisive.
And one thousand poems and one thousand drawings cannot wipe my heart clean or blank.
Pass, I know it will, but many the years will wind through my blistered soul before it might.
Know, my children, that I miss you like the cloudless sky.
Bereft of activity, and only being.
 Mo0n Pi · Wed Aug 05, 2009 @ 06:51pm · 0 Comments |
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