PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I rubbed it until I came

and even that meant nothing to me

visiting him the way I did

to confront yesterday's waste

with the wisdom of this tumultuous day

holding that charm of his

so tightly warm in my fingers

(an old Russian coin his grandfather had

once given him)

afraid of everything  while challenging

reason and a host of a thousand other

insanities

right up to his large imposing  gate

realizing at the final clang

that he was dead to my heart

long before my knock

its been years since my last tear

upon his photo fell

so even though reeling

this moment stands bare

for what it is

a moment

just a moment

of long awaited for

self reckoning

and perhaps some

twisted re acquaintance of some sorted sorts

little can that man do for me

he (whoever he is) who stands large and looming  

in my mind

on the other side of this door

before me

laugh this off

its a farce in point

referenced by distorted memories

my conscience argues

in the stillness

my ears suddenly swallow the the slow creak

of the opening door

a sweet timid faced man ( not the handsome rogue I recalled) answered

in that familiar voice yes?

ah and yet its only in those same eyes just wearing a different face now

that I sense any real proof of my having once truly burned

and it is here

from his deminished demeanor

that my joy is born

through his own shock and tears

his life too it seems has now its own proof

that love did once enjoy his company for a brief

but unforgettable spell

and his altered eyes  howl the regrets

hes long since had over his rash young man's choices

in the years faced since

sometimes demons

transform right before one's very eyes

into the pathetic beaten down

abused specimen's of humanity

that they always were

for pain just like love

has such a fickle memory

and a perversely scarred imagination

that shares its hall of distorted mirrors

with millions alike

Melissa

(written August 29,2003 315am)