The Darkness Stirs …
I think of loss as the pinnacle of empathy
The tears flowing that descend as coping tools,
as the soul’s windows well and pool in dewy symmetry
The heart pumps violence, and sates sympathy with fuel.
With mechanisms of defense and understanding
that mingle with effort to rise in the morning
I face this monster head on, without abandon,
Without the understanding of the Lord’s calling
The sands of time curved slowly down the hourglass
Each second away from her was a lifetime without hue
Out of bed I dragged myself, this lifeless carcass
And put my flyblown suit on to face the truth
With early rain, the glower of the street lamps mocked.
The raindrop shadows on the dash, like tears, returned.
Numbness atrophied to weak flesh, and in latent shock,
The car felt like it drove itself and made each turn.
The sadness of the rain had earned my serenity,
It was calming yet reminded me it was ok to cry.
A sweet solace in the embrace of others, was mere brevity,
And the road unmarked by my feet was hard to abide.
How quick the florists were, to cash in on my pain,
The etchers and engravers, they were soon to follow
The priest spoke of poetry, in verse sweet like sugar canes
while migraines had grown strong, and my chest was feeling hollow.
Their words were so kind, though spoken in past tenses,
Like her face wasn’t the first thing my mind saw each morning
They pumped her with formaldehyde and passed her sentence,
And slowly my drought had ended as tears kept on forming
Laying with her riddled mind, was the grief of solitude,
And the susurration that swept through me in a gentle wind.
Her voice in cacophonous tremors, haunting the interlude,
My words fumbling in ineptitude as her spotlight dimmed
With shallow hugs, her distant family joined to grieve
My heart left bereaving through her bleached existence
No reprieves for me, knowing that she was a thief
My heart reluctant to commit to this subsistence—
Late at night, when dreams should come, the crux of darkness stirs
It finds me as a willing host, as it fosters doubt
As it cultivates my demise, how it claims to succor
in my time of need, where only despair will sprout.
Pew to pew are filled in, with whispers in the air
The detritus of this shattered soul left to float free.
Hopeless, I’m wanting, craving to cling to her somewhere,
Yet I wait in sadness to hear some vacuous apology.
My heart forgoes the austere purpose of beating
And yields to a melancholy miasma
With thoughts towards oblivion and smiles retreating,
My soul pursues importance, and yet has none.
How our story was just memories, distant synapses,
And once the earth entombed her, my sun promptly set—
I was trapped in darkness as the ebon influx happened
In three piece fabric consuming anger and regrets—
my brain emphatically tapped in, feeding once more
this time devouring the broken pieces of my soul
the lifeless forms they’ve assumed, the innards of my core
how she took them from me, as she left herself so cold.
So I endured, through the sadness, through the pain
My hands storing these illusory pebbles of glass
From the spire she stuck through my chest, and sapped my veins,
depriving me of every good thing that we’ve amassed.