You're gone they say, and
yet each time I
turn around, I feel you there, within the
emptiness. Crying out, the air responds
in palpable distensions. Your voice becomes
a drifting echo in each theme of autumn's dreams.
And there, within each backward glance, and too,
within each distance and each happenstance that
seems to still exist between we two; in some
ways closer than you'd ever been with me before.
My dreams last night were
I felt as if I were a spirit, still alive within your
burning, living, leaving heart; and yet I could
not hear a beat. A sense of hopelessness,
defeat, lay all too heavily upon my breast. The
shock is passing, yet a salient sense of grief
remains to fill these endless days without you
here. And there is this growing pain inside of me
that I just simply can't explain or yet describe.
You, my one and only hope
of every bright
tomorrow. You, my shelter and my light,
each time the way grew dark. You, my strength,
each time that weakness tried to buckle up my
knees . I'm never sure these days when tears
might start to fall again. Its always at the oddest
moments - just when an errant scent or sight
or sound comes round, reminding me
of all we used to share.
I pray, more often than
I ever did before, for
all the moments that we could have loved, even
though I'll never really hear an echoed answer
e'er again - and yet I need them still (those loving
moments that we shared) to come alive again
somehow in me. Your spirit enters in, and then
I feel your vibrant strength, telling me I must
go on, e'en now. And yet somehow life's meaning
has been lost within a crash, a flame - collapsing
on itself, and then upon the everything I knew
our love to be. And all that I can see is
merely dusty, wet protrusions of an ending
born of pure destructiveness. I look into
our loved one's eyes, and know I must
contain this flame of strength for you,
forevermore, no matter what it takes.
At times an anger rises
full, and I look up
to the skies, and curse our God beyond those
alibis of life eternal, for life is what we should
be living now, within each other's hearts and
souls (yet more, for what is life without a pair
of loving arms to hold one in the night?),
surrounding me with loving tenderness
that is returned in so much more than full.
This is not fear that speaks,
this is despair;
for too much time has passed for me to dare
to say aloud you are alive, no matter that your
spirit lives within my heart forever. But memories
are not enough, when my greatest need is for
your loving touch - be it a touch composed of
word or glance (across a crowded room perchance);
or in the arms of your embrace, when every loving
tune played through our veins.
And oh, the many (all too
many now) who seem
to feel the same as I. I cannot seem to find my way
to tame this scream I feel arise within. It is not one
of terror, nor of violence, you see. (You've always
known that is not me at all.) And yet this crying out
of loss and grief might bring me such a great relief.
Perhaps one day, I'll take the car and roll up all
the windows, out within a space where no one hears -
and then I will allow myself this one unholy scream -
yet it seems a poor and paltry offering, to replace
the love we shared in time and space and living
For more than just my outer
world has shattered;
something deep inside of me is trembling on a
brink; as if upon the very edge of some deep
chasm, ever-opening beneath, and soon it seems,
I too must fall. Yet here I stand, alone yet
living, willing only that I feel you standing
here with me again...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...