Email Poem

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Poem

I build an imagination from your love, sweetheart
Maybe two days from today I'll be in for a sick bay
Struggling to get my breath sustain me at least a day,
To see you again.

Just maybe an hour to that last breath 
You will disown me with a rapturous vivace
And see me as a side voice
Never to hold you to the skies.

Love you always admit you have a niché in your soul
For the years we've shared, haven't I filled it?
Nor do the cymbals I play don't tinkle?
For it will be a cave in the heart!

Just maybe the many vows, wishes and promises
Were all but just fake understanding of love,
Maybe a schism of hatred is inbred in our souls 
To make us part forever.

And the imaginations of a sacred altar
In the middle of exchanging rings
I fall an die: will you still be under my shadows?
Or you will gladly move on?

Just maybe the memories will fade away
Or the times we spent together build a tale in your walls
Or the circuses you love blind you:
Never to reminisce about this poor lover here?

In the innate imagination, dearest love,
I see us falling down the crest
Deep to the lying carcasses awaiting us
And it's just a fainting vision...

Maybe all my letters to you bleached,
The soothing verses erased in your memory
Just maybe...maybe we're aliens
To this world of mortals.

But love, my imagination is based on worries:
Not of a foreshadow nor a prophecy,
But for a painful revelation:
You will never read nor understand this!

© Borusei Kipkirui

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