How can it be that so many years have passed? It still feels
like goodbye was but a reprieve,
a holiday,
to sort things out.
Things have been sorted, but like laundry
another load is always in the making.
You though, never needed sorting at all.
You were everclean, everfresh on my mind,
my lips,
the tip of my tongue.
You lifted me up and took me to places
I had been before but never noticed
(for from a different perspective comes a different view)
You opened me up and took from me good I never knew existed.
Our world left mor(t)ality behind:
reality was but
my hand on the nape of your neck,
your eyes erasing the ground and
escorting me to something higher than this mess of ticking earth.
Ultimately, choices were made, or made for us.
(Choices made before we even met)
To know that I still wake each morning with Your arms
wrapped in my mind,
and lay down each night, seeing Our dreams in tomorrow
may very well be as inconsequential to you
as a grain of sand on the beaches that line the ocean that separates us,
but to me,
it's what gives me the balance to stand.
In my mind, I find you with each passing moment,
frozenintime,
still in the shadow c a s t in the same light
as the last time
we touched.
And this is where you will always remain,
as much a part of me as is the sun part of the day.
All those things that were Us are again locked away,
as if photos in a chest in an attic,
where I stow away on rainy days,
reminiscing
of a life that might have been had the sorting been done
by your me,
instead of hers.
Let go of me now.
You deserve so much more than the ghost of a dream
that was too weak to speak midnight truth
to midday reckoning |
Submission Name: the history of one man
