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Poem

Maybe if I'm lucky, I would forget

That whatever it is. That spark,
That something, quite brilliant,
That happiness, spontaneity, that gush,
Of emotions, of insights, those
Things I hear when you say them,
That smile you make, that I think I caused,
That jewel, the purity, those dreams,
This laughter, you have caused in me,
Those things I've dreamt only by myself, but
Always I have longed to share,
Those things I cannot word, but tried to show,
That metaphor, the dazzle and shine,
This, which I cannot quite properly speak of,
But has to do with you,

That
which causes such pain, from knowing.
That nothing will come, no sunrise.
No light, no rest for us so weary.
Such aggravation, such maleficence,
From the cruelty of the inevitable.
Oh gravity, how there is no escape,
No matter how far we think we fly.
Truly the ambrosia heralds our demise.
And I would stop the bleeding if I could.
But I can't. Not by myself.
I have tried.

And so if I'm lucky, maybe one day I would simply forget.
But if life were truly gracious, perhaps these things would remain,
And I, simply find it in my heart to accept them.

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