Two Years Later

Now the letter I wrote
But failed to send
is neatly folded,
Buried between the pages of the book
We shared like wine.
Like shadows interlocking on the path
We walked along beneath the August moon,
Singing soul to soul.

It chafes the skin beneath my shirt,
Spread out like a scab.
A barbed net.
A painful rending of my heart.

I can’t bear to hear the words again today.

They live, a haunting Siren’s call
That then was every note and chord
Of the symphony you were.

But me?

I am lashed to the mast.

I
Am
Forced
By reminiscence, by bonds of steely rope,
To relive our mornings when the sun once rose,
Awakening the gardens of your prose,
The heat of you.
The light.
The sun is now obsidian.

I
Am
Forced
To relive the peaceful midday hours,
Crushed and ground today
To mournful siftings of dust.


I must walk the evenings—I have
No choice—seeking the
Desperately lovely moon that yesterday
Coursed across our heaven
like holy pages of script
Or white owls clustered in the sky,
And now,
And now...

The thought of you brings forth howling creatures.
Black-souled, angry soldiers from hell
Who spear me with the echoes of your voice.


I am unwilling to lay the letter down,
But I lay the rose upon your grave.

Impressum

Texte: (c) Patrick Sean Lee, 2012
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.04.2012

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