A poet, yet I found
that I could never write
the ending of the love that you and I
once had and held and lived.
It was an experience that I just couldn’t let go of.
Exquisite is the only word that comes to mind right now.
So much more than any other little thoughts of love
my words had ever stirred.
My once-in-a-lifetime. Maybe yours too.
So tiny the time. So heavy the dues.
into the death of all I'd held
so sacrosanct. You were no artist.
Never in the conventional sense of the word.
Ah, but you were, in every golden phrase
that sprang from lips so ripe, so ready
to be kissed by only me.
And I remember when you told me
(God, it seems like yesterday!)
that you would shout it from the rooftops -
that you loved me, oh so true (just not quite yet).
The reviews would
No one could stop them.
Nor ever did you try.
(I noticed that, even then, amid the throes of love's delirium.
And yet I couldn't think it through, not then.)
As the poles of what the press might call "a popular opinion"
started to explode beneath the rims.
Even in this little world of mine.
What hurt the most was how
you had reacted to all that.
Turning away, so cold and so cruel.
Then never turning back again.
No matter any heartfelt pain.
You never were the man I thought I knew.
But something changed
inside of me
amid the cruelty of silence that you kept.
And I realized you never had been true.
You'd never loved me as you claimed.
Never in the way that I'd loved you.
For I remember that last letter sent.
And how I'd sent it back to you.
That showed the way you'd taken up
with all their awful accusations.
The words you used to put me down.
The deed was done. You'd killed the love.
Why do I linger still...?
Within a world where everything is blue.
The words seem sparse
and empty now.
While deep inside, there is this voice
insisting I still have some sort of choice.
And so I write, to ease the pain.
Still wishing that I hadn't lived
to tell this tale of woe again.
What difference could it ever make to you...?
Pain easing just a little - just before it brings
the shivering of shock into my system yet again...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .