Now
now,
lie me here in this soft bed
lie me here, 'life' playing out around me
lie me here, my heart pushing futile blood.
a foolish heart, dead so many years now.
E ... its now just 268 days, since you
killed
yourself. and, lookitme ...
whole days are going by without tears.
without my descending into
a shredder of sorrow,
without my world dissolving in the absolute certainty
that i am worthless here
that the moments I spend here
without you
are useless.
are torture. are
mediocre.
beats my foolish heart,
calling back to barracks the slaughtered regiment.
empty building robbed of the promise of noise.
quiet now,
as dust dances
through the windows,
through the doors,
spinning exactly like the lost soldiers are not.
wait me here,
while the clock runs out.
looking not behind me, where I can still find you,
nor beside me, where the illusion spins out,
but ever forward,
where I see your golden hair, wrinkly nose smile,
and slender hand,
reaching back towards me.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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