Tide
It washes over me like an errant tide
pushing and pulling; leaving me off balance.
I reach out without thinking, and feel rebuffed.
It arrives as a hot flush, color rises, blooming in my face
as though the aftermath of a slap; true enough to fit.
But the pain envelops my heart, the center of me,
the place I escape to, curl up in, like a comforting chair
to be alone, undisturbed; often my balm, my cure,
and steals from me the peace I search for to heal.
He is gone, softly, but thoroughly, like an old song I recall.
I try not to open my heart for want to pull back,
in denial of the pain that will come; but I am compelled.
I gasp in grief – no longer surprised at the emptiness
and am wounded by loneliness – the heart’s prison.
I am stabbed with pain in the knowledge he feels it too.
No caring soul could pull away from another
once connected at their very core, regardless of the mind’s decision -
Not without the pain of sadness, or of grief in the loss
for one so dearly loved. The pain is mirrored -
the gossamer thread that connected them – near severed.
A part of me bleeds, but I gather it up, and hold it close.
I cannot let it pale me, nor shall I harden my heart –
a rigor-mortis to set in. I shall bear the pain, perhaps until my end.
There is no release for me, no happiness, no vision into tomorrow.
Joyful events pale, as the paled blood of loss drains me.
I hear the call of the zephyr; see his face in the stars
Always, a scent of limes, of sea breezes and salt water
and that gossamer thread bears ever weakening vibration,
once alive and electric, or soft, quietly humming with life.
I worry, and deny that it is fading – a self-serving trick of my heart.
It washes over me like an errant tide.
In time, I may find comfort in the pain -
knowledge in the rhythm of its pounding waves
and hope it washes away this loneliness,
far and away out to sea; if he shall not answer again.
©Lin Cava
10-March-2013
©Lin Cava
revised 12-31-2017
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Tide
It washes over me like an errant tide
pushing and pulling; leaving me off balance.
I reach out without thinking, and feel rebuffed.
It arrives as a hot flush, color rises, blooming in my face
as though the aftermath of a slap; true enough to fit.
But the pain envelops my heart, the center of me,
the place I escape to, curl up in, like a comforting chair
to be alone, undisturbed; often my balm, my cure,
and steals from me the peace I search for to heal.
He is gone, softly, but thoroughly, like an old song I recall.
I try not to open my heart for want to pull back,
in denial of the pain that will come; but I am compelled.
I gasp in grief – no longer surprised at the emptiness
and am wounded by loneliness – the heart’s prison.
I am stabbed with pain in the knowledge he feels it too.
No caring soul could pull away from another
once connected at their very core, regardless of the mind’s decision -
Not without the pain of sadness, or of grief in the loss
for one so dearly loved. The pain is mirrored -
the gossamer thread that connected them – near severed.
A part of me bleeds, but I gather it up, and hold it close.
I cannot let it pale me, nor shall I harden my heart –
a rigor-mortis to set in. I shall bear the pain, perhaps until my end.
There is no release for me, no happiness, no vision into tomorrow.
Joyful events pale, as the paled blood of loss drains me.
I hear the call of the zephyr; see his face in the stars
Always, a scent of limes, of sea breezes and salt water
and that gossamer thread bears ever weakening vibration,
once alive and electric, or soft, quietly humming with life.
I worry, and deny that it is fading – a self-serving trick of my heart.
It washes over me like an errant tide.
In time, I may find comfort in the pain -
knowledge in the rhythm of its pounding waves
and hope it washes away this loneliness,
far and away out to sea; if he shall not answer again.
©Lin Cava
10-March-2013
©Lin Cava
revised 12-31-2017
Request permission to use this poem