What I left behind was my hope
of a dying, a blindness that caused the untimely
decay and fraying of time
and the spaces which are surrounding.

Sometimes was this little smile
on lips undeserving of the words that
were never to be spoken. I have climbed onto
this hill, embracing the sun and moon, they are

part of my heart, and ever leaving me in circular
motions. I gave up my longing but all that was left,
all that lied in the well of my soul was still
rippled and mirrored.

Crystalline laughter and shared sighs, he
was gone so spritely. And there was silence in these walls.
Black on the white so lovely dark, negative sepia
ground down to skewed visions.

He had his voice and he met me over, in the
pitch blackness this release ought to have been
a make of delighted freedom. It is not my
prison now, maybe just a form of grief. Never more

would I be as lonely.


© July 24 2012