Anodyne
Please tell me there's a healing anodyne,
some kind of mythical enlightenment,
a cure capable of extinguishing the flames
of grief burning deep within my heart.
It's a fire I cannot douse or smother.
If there is a balm, something known to man,
I beseech you, bathe me in its pacifying waters
before my heartache drives me insane.
Cleanse the malignancy lost love has wrought.
In the song of a lark I found a brief respite.
His voice soothed the beast blazing in my breast
but then off he flew before I slept.
My ache found but a moment's relief
then returned to plague me, smoldering again.
I linger in sorrow, without means of escape
from a life of recurring fear and doubt.
Is there no utopian Shangri La or illusive Camelot
where memories of us will not haunt me?
If not, I must endure this anguish to my grave.
In desperation, I planted a garden of herbs
and nibbled leaves of chamomile and yarrow,
but no analgesic did they prove to be.
I should've sown hemlock to end my misery.
What anodyne will succor the look of disdain
I see, when in a mirror I sorrowfully visualize
the love his eyes once held for me?
If the antidote blinds me, I beg to be dosed.
I would sacrifice sight to set my heart free.
June 18, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 3
Sponsored by Mark Toney
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