As Emeya says, I like that it's sophisticated and about the world and then, as a person's woe unfolds - in a most sophisticated, callus sort of way, it becomes about the world.
No, I know, thank God for the bright spots. But most people will read a poem and not take it home with them. And it bothers me, that. I am sorry, you have done your job well.
Adaptation is all that I know. Whether you like it or not, though certainly it is better to say,
ok, now the....
ok, now the...
ok, now a star has burst, where will i go.
fruitless seeming, or a bit like that, when you are feeling down, but the where will i go question is not a helpless one, it goes back to that adaptation whether you are willing or no, but the choice is yours
to weather the what of where you are and better the what of who you will become. The single, great, epiphany I have discovered is -
nothing is ever still.
Sorry to sermonize at you, that is the situation on the ground, as i know it.
And, it's not like you are some riff raff JanePlane, I can tell, you are good people.
by striving, you lift up that chin exceptionally well.
To the person who was supposed to be there, to be included in these things, and instead there are only what ifs and could-have-beens. That's a terrible thing to live with, but I suppose you learn to straighten your shoulder and not think about it most days.
I like the progression of this most. The first half is romantic and picturesque, un-real in the way we might think of the things that could have been, but then it starts to become more specific and personalized, as though we are now reading about things that really happened and what they might've been like had that person been there. Almost as though to say you missed out on this. I'm not sure if I'm communicating that properly.
One suggestion I would give is with these lines:
"and later still we’d / make love . . . "
the tense is off here, and should be something like "and later still we were supposed to / make love" might be the easier route, and furthers the repetition and impact of the "supposed to".
The "It is April" is a perfect movement / pivot. Now the poem is what really happened, what is now, and the loneliness becomes all more poignant by this admittance and the question you end with.
It's amazing what a person can do to another's heart, be it good or bad. The question is not only frank but sums up every feeling residing in this poem.
At least, hopefully, one can get to a place where they can run to themselves.
Wow, the ending was a clincher. The format I feel could be played with a little, because its such a serious piece and it's important and I feel like it should look more hm... like, I'm not sure how to explain, but I feel like the line breaks could be better, and the lack of punctuation, too, could be fixed. But maybe it's also that the lack of punctuation is purposeful and you're using it to explain how everything is lowing into each other, without end and without order, but omg, that last line. I was reading it, and it was just such a sad piece and the final line collects everything before it and just hands it to the reader and says, "Look at me, I'm broken, but I'm art."
"We were supposed to wake each other up in the soft light
of a new day and then another and another until our days
faded into soft sunset"
My question for this is why did she swim back to shore? Is he or she still waiting for their partner to come get them.
Dreams of what could have, might have been if one had taken the other fork in the road... now relegated to another dimension. What is described here is quite a beautiful vision in time and space, romantic foreign names, places, yet it was a dream.
If a life can be cataloged such forks would be the index tabs, perhaps using one each color coded for sweet dreams, bitter holding-ons and continuing reality. We are free to indulge ourselves in the first two but it is the last that really matters. What colors do you choose your tabs to be?
Thanks for the tour and the swim. Happy Easter! It's a time we celebrate rebirth, new beginnings, resurrection, new life... and this recurring cycle has been recognized since long before mankind had the means to document that which unfolds itself so gloriously before us. I suppose there was a time when the celebration of Spring was for the fact that at least some if not all of the tribe had once again survived Winter.