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Open Poetry #48
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666
California

0 posted 2013-06-16 01:41 PM



Stir


The night was held, the light was bled,
As I sat, still as stone.
By dream compelled, there on my bed,
Trapped by four walls, alone.

The door was closed, and would remain
That way eternally;
As Darkness posed, a thrice-cursed train
Whose tracks led twice through me.

The voice of Silence, aching, sweet,
Gave way to Misery.
Forever, hence, set the heartbeat
Of fading Memory.

A soft white glove, an ageless tune—
It sings, forever free.
It speaks of love – It speaks of ruin,
‘Just never speaks of me.

But I was there once, long ago...
‘Tis why ‘can’t close my eyes.
I would not dare to lose her so—
To prove it all was lies—

To face a sun that morning brings,
And not bask in this shame;
With hell now bleeding through all things
That have whispered my name.

And so I sit here, night and day,
To think of naught, but her.
I have forfeit manner and way
And sight now, to this blur.

This stir of dream I can’t let go,
That never lets me sleep;
Betwixt the seam of all I know,
And that I could not keep.


Michael Anderson

© Copyright 2013 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved
JerryPat2
Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975
South Louisiana
1 posted 2013-06-16 02:02 PM


Achingly told summation of heartfelt misery. Sleepless night wrought by thoughts of deeds done and words spoken. Forever on that spinning wheel of non-forgotten minute details and a love that didn't last.

~*~ A somebody was once a nobody who wanted to and did.--John Burroughs ~*~

Honeybunch
Member Rara Avis
since 2001-12-29
Posts 7115
South Africa
2 posted 2013-06-17 04:36 AM


Achingly sad, Michael.  I often wonder if all those people who tell us to just let it go have ever managed to do that themselves.  I guess it's good advice but so very hard to do.  In my land today the sun is shining and with it thankfully will come the necessary distractions.  
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