Heartless Heart

again he remembers, just like tonight,
           he dreamt long ago about lying awake
           beside her beneath the bronze blanket
                       of a lightning-scorched, stormy night;


the memory, a bent optical illusion now,
           like that of a straight reed seen in water,
           shows a distorted image of that dream
                      where it seemed he froze deep inside,


dumbstruck, not so much by the wrath
           of the tempest gone berserk outside
           as by the quiet guilt  now gnawing away
                      at this one ungrateful, heartless heart;


but, the teasing touch of her drowsy hand,
           warm upon his chin, explains everything
           reassuringly, so he drifts back to sleep
                     unafraid of waking up to dream again.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Poem

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