And Me

I close my eyes, to ease the pain
indwelling just behind. Relief
becomes an alter-image, reaching
into me. For your bright eyes are
part of me, even now that you are
gone. Tomorrow would have been
a year, a newborn anniversary, if
you had stayed with me.

Instead you feel you must pretend
I never came into existence.
A placement too familiar to my
heart and soul in life. In sleep, I
dream the strangest dreams - no
longer do I dream of you at all;
except within that silent space
that lies between each in and
out of breath.

As if you dwelt within the faery
mists of long ago; where time was
spent without a hint of aging or of
moving on. I can't quite reach you
there, not anymore - for you traveled
quite beyond the space of magic
that still seeks reality. And yet I know
a bit about the place where you choose
now to dwell.

My father dwelt there, too, for many
years before his death brought that
creation to fruition - just for him. My
brothers tend to dwell there, too -
reaching for a space of quietude
that they can't seem to find within
the greater world of life in manmade
time. It's as if men have a compass
that just carries them away, beyond
the realm of feelings that communicate
the love of every moment of
each living day.

They think that love must always be
a dim and unlit thing, that hides beneath
the covers, deep within the indigo of night.
While for me, love must contain the sun
and stars and glowing moon; ever altering
within the rounds of nature's call, as
nature is unendingly completing itself
in eternity. But you are gone. Hiding
in the dark of forest mists; supposing
that old memories are all you need to
keep you going on and on and on.

Your battery is running down, yet you
refuse to notice this. A multitude of old
excuses tumble through your brain.
And these you cling to as an explanation.
I close my eyes, to ease the pain indwelling
just behind. Relief becomes an alter-image,
reaching yet again right into me. Each time
I find the slightest heartfelt swell of love
coming from you (scantily) these days,
it is then the greatest weight of
all your many sorrows follow
quickly and unceasingly within the growing
tide. And still, there is no way
I cannot feel you there.

For no matter how quickly our time
seemed to pass, some part of you is
still indwelling here. And the picture
isn't clear, not any more - no not at
all. There is no future waiting for us
anywhere around the bend; nor even
some great dream of distant future
days we might make real together.
The pain keeps gaining in the silence
of attention that you rarely choose
to pay to me these days,
and this overwhelms my life too
desperately. I might have much life
left to live, if only you were really here
or really gone away, but not this way.

No longer do I seek you out, yet you
are always present. It's Christmas
time again, my love, why do you choose
to haunt me with such misery again?
For every happy memory of days of
yore we spent together, those alter
images respond, overlaying all the
joy and happiness that we once knew.
Images of every moment of the life
that you live now, without me there -
impale me in some unholy source
of utter pain.

They sting and burn and make
even forgiveness an impossibility
for me. It's like a moving picture
that refuses a finale. Running on
and on without relief. For in all
this time, you haven't found the
courage to confess that needed
last goodbye to either me or them.
And I still feel you clinging -
desperately, at times - when I just
want andneed to carry on without
you here, and this by your decision.

The psychologists have named this
need - they think a word like closure
might compel the altering of links so
deep that two minds see out of each
others' eyes, no matter where they are,
and two of each, the heart and soul, are
made to feel the same in every moment
of experience, even in this pain. I've come
to see that this great need of love that's true
is all we really have to base the meaning
of our lives upon. I know not why, and all
the other circumstances (creating words
like unrequited and the famous nevermore)
cannot come close to what we feel when
we are here, within the mighty flow of so
much more and less than love can be.

I know love can be difficult at times,
and yet I still believe that it is worth
the energy it takes to make it right
again. I also know it can't be righted,
not while you are living there with her.
That falls within the definition of a
gross impossibility.

I feel a growing emptiness, and know
that it is more than mine alone. And
too, I still remember all the many words
you wrote and spoke to me, expressing
just how empty life had come to be for
you, before you found me here. Back
then, you promised me forever love
within reality. And still, I know not why
you chose to run away again.

I close my eyes, to ease the pain
indwelling just behind. Relief
becomes an alter-image, reaching
into me. For your bright eyes are
part of me, even now that you are
gone. And ever since you left, I've
merely teetered on the brink of
abysses that I shall never come to
understand, for they were truly
never mine to know at all.

I close my eyes, and feel your
heartbeat echoing in me. It runs
too fast these days. I wonder if
some other comes to ease you
into sleep again, the way I used
to do. But no, if that were true,
by now you'd be asleep and oh,
your heart would beat so tenderly
with love again - and me...

? Michaelette ?

12/162001
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...