Fall on my knees
And unto God I pray
If it must be
Why must it be this way?
I never sought
To do you such great harm,
My heart it hurts
And is so far from calm.
So far away
That should be near at hand,
I cannot speak
No longer see the plan.
To hold you tight
My arms now only seek,
But even that
A chance so sadly bleak.
So I will sit
And silent vigil keep
My love is strong
But deep inside I weep.
Just like so many other things about you that didn’t make any sense, but made me smile deeply, ‘breakfast food for dinner’ is one I love. I just didn’t think you meant muesli.
I dream in sorrow
My sweet discontent doth speak
Madness music makes
(Shakespearean fridge magnets courtesy of my children.)
Fresh coffee brewed, sits cooling by my feet
(But unlike you I still won’t take it sweet)
As slow sad Country fills the morning air;
Unwritten songs of loves I wished to share.
Fresh tears now flow as music in me seeps,
Can’t shake these troubled memories of sleep;
For though its been so long since last we spoke
Still dreaming of your voice my waking chokes.
Dream-drowning in dark waters, wide and deep,
You pulled me out and set me on my feet:
Fresh silken pleats you’d woven in your hair
Entwined my heart, a noose I cannot tear.
Reality will not resume this week
For nothing here can give me what I seek.
I spoke to my therapist today for another hour. We talked about how far I have come in the last 3 months. During that time my journal has stood so deathly quiet but this week it has been taken up again.
How different it is from when we first began to speak, as I sat there, falling to pieces.
We didn’t talk about you much today. You have become one of my “not yet” items. I still love you. There are days when it is so much harder, but now I know that I can love you without feeling like the world is ending if you don’t love me back. I forgive everything for I am not without fault, and hope that you will forgive me too one day.
My poems speak of pain and heartbreak at times. These things are still true. I still have bad days. I still have moments when the sadness of those final days breaks me like a wooden doll under the wheels of a pickup truck. My hope is to accept them and acknowledge that the past isn’t what matters: All that matters is now. When I feel the pain I let it flow through me onto the page and allow it to pass.
The pain is no longer what defines me, it just is.
You are still in my thoughts as I go to sleep, and when I wake I still look for you. No-one said I was over you. I am not, nor do I think I will be for some time. Maybe I will never be. What matters is now. Not what may be.
The road ahead is taken One Step At A Time; like climbing a mountain, or walking a long and winding path through the hills.
What is important
Is not the end
But each step
As it is taken.
Its nice to know
You’re still alive
Somewhere out there
You fight and strive
One day maybe
To find your way
Out of the night
Into the day.
Stand on a street corner
A sign around my neck
“Would you like to read my poetry?”
Seeking instant gratification,
Without wifi connection.
(I wrote most of it while gazing
In deep contemplation
Of my possibly expanding midriff.)
Excuse me while I rehearse
14 lines of free verse
About my vintage Converse
Written on the obverse
Of a battered clutch-purse.
(I could be a hipster too
Except I shaved my beard off
Because it bothered me.)
I push my latest verbal hairball
Under your nose
Wonder whether its worth it
To see you so repulsed.
(Writing is therapy,
It doesn’t need to be read
But editing might be a beneficial)
Wordsworth never had these problems,
But then if he lived today
He’d be too busy
Taking pictures of daffodils
On his smartphone
To write poetry.