Travelled

Many moons and many seasons have passed since you journeyed faraway to alien shores without a word from you, save a portrait of yourself clad in fine linen. Every night, I see you in my dreams in scarlet silk standing by the beach, waiting for that  bespectacled Snowman. My dream turns to nightmare waking to the sobering thought that you might forget me and Telemachus  you left behind... So, I wanted to write you a letter to tell you how I feel about this sickening thought in my head that you may know I have been in the blue since the day you departed from me; the thought of you strikes me like the flash of lightning; yet, my heart only yearns for you I wanted to write you a letter to remind you of our halcyon days of how enraptured we were walking hand-in-hand through the harvest fields at sunset of the vows we made on moonlit nights of the dreams we hope to accomplish and of Death—the debt that all men must pay I wanted to write you a letter to ask you how oftentimes do you see me in your dreams as I see you in mine? Do you pause a minute to think of me if I cross your mind? Or have you completely erased me from your memory? And you should, please, tell me that I may not tarry in vain orchestrating my own doom like Narcissus Or my wailings like Cassandra’s  unheeded cries; that I may know when you will be coming home to break this deafening silence of your absence that this anguish, this cold within me may vanish... But, when I gaze at your portrait on my table  as I sit to commune with my Muse; though I search vehemently, still, I cannot find those befitting words to write this letter I wanted to write to you. I quit.