When I Find You.
I have searched for you in the heart of the darkened forest, my cold breath silvered in the
splintered moonlight. You were not there.
I have looked for you in the garden of my sorrows, where only the weeds of disenchantment
flourish. You were not there.
I have walked through darkened corridors at midnight, wandered barefoot through rooms
empty, even of ghosts, where my wedding dress hangs decaying in cobwebs, lit only by the
sighing moon.
I have a nature made sweet by fragility, a life made empty through timidity.
But I will search until I find.
I have searched for you in my dreams through landscapes made grey by disappointment and
regret. Where are you?
And when I find you I shall come to you not just with my brain and my mind and
my beating heart, but with all of me, all that I am.
And when I turn to you and you enclose me in your arms, sealing off the world, you will know
by my weeping that I am Home.
And all the griefs of my life will fall from me as I slide the knife deep into your heart and
watch you bleed.
Copyright © Susan Porter | Year Posted 2010
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