Miss Me In the Meantime

Her last few years were spent within reach of me
Her last few hours were spent in my arms
Sometimes I wondered if there was some part of her mind
which let her believe she was already dead
I only saw her cry when she was happy
The sad tears that most of us are used to seeing
had fled her eyes a long, long time ago

Terrible words I could find for describing
all the horrors she’d managed enduring
I once found it all hard to believe,
but she wouldn’t give up on me trusting her
And it was only when I let go of my doubt
that she showed me the full extent
of the grave days she never gave herself freely to
She had saved herself for someone like me
She saved the little that was left

And that last little piece of her
is the only magic I’ve ever known
After all she’d been through, I thought
nothing as simple sounding as cancer
could kill her
But it did
That first breath of life without her
saw a man who longed for a quick death
For the selfish heart of a man
has never been quick to grow wise

Soon enough, however, I was waking
She had left me here in need of a purpose
Rather naturally, I chose hers
I chose to deny the peace she so loved in me
For my world would not rest safely
until I’d done more
than write about all of those wrongs
Love is capable of hate,
and my love for her made it mandatory

I’ve burned bodies on the mattress
where the reds of her rapes still shone
I’ve made use of the nooses
which were once the ties that bound her
I took the eyes of that young woman
who saw the love of my life
bruised and gagged, unable to beg
The same young woman
who claimed she’d seen nothing
This is little more than surface-scratching
with regard to all I’ve done

There’s blood on my shovel
as the sun goes down on the horizon
I wait, as always, longing to hear
the horizon plateau
Nothing comes, that’s how I know
that I’m really not dead yet
What I begged the gods to let me keep
was not an answered prayer
No, I’m still in this world of evil,
certain that it’s shaken the blame

And the silence of the horizon
means no one’s prayers are being answered
It means they’ll never hear me coming
It means they haven’t imagined me
I’m not even something they know to fear
But that doesn’t mean that I’m not still there;
the lost lover who hides in plain sight,
continually telling myself that she didn’t
live or die in vain

Poetry from The Astrals by Shane Windham
E-book and paperback now on Amazon.com

No comments:

Post a Comment