Aphantasia
Greek, without imagination.
What a beautiful word,
A beautiful word for the condition that plagues my soul,
As I lie awake at night
As I try to dream
As I cry.
Daring myself to remember
The faces of those I have lost,
The way their eyes gleamed
The way their voices whispered
The way their arms embraced
The way their scent lingered
The way their dinners tasted -
But alas it is gone
I only know I am thinking of such things
but I don’t have the visual imagery to go along side it.
Is it not deserved
Is there a way to get them back
To have them like I did in that moment
To have them restored
It is hardest when you are grieving
Knowing that others may always have their memories
So do I, but I don’t think it is the same
Instead I take to a camera
I see the curve of their lips
Their hair framing their face
The way their eyes shone,
I hold it close
Taking in every detail like I did originally
When it was captured
I try to immortalise the image in my head
But once I look away, its gone.
Like it was never there at all,
Never mine to look at in the first place
Floating away
Like a petal on a stream
Or how a feather takes to the air
I look back then
At the picture before me
My mind at ease once again with their features
And then finally I can rest,
Someday I may be ready to move on
Copyright © Ciara Daly | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment