The Return
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A tenebrous void occupies my soul
like a queasy, dark, wintry cloud
hanging low and heavy with sleet and frost.
No gelid wind blows it away
and I despair. I cannot forget the dead.
An empty, lonely chapel still beacons.
It stands alone
amongst the tall dark pines
of an abandoned forest.
Inside, the dim light filters poorly
through dirty broken stained glass.
There's nothing inside but dust.
No chairs, no pews
for the weary traveller.
I sit on the cold slab tomb,
wonder who was laid to rest
inside the sepulchre.
Then did I realise I was alive.
All memories stored deep inside me.
The waking of empathy
especially to the self, is painful.
How oft had I tried to erase
my thoughts on you?
I leave the disused chapel
and return to my empty home.
I still think of you.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2024
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