A grey pink sky watches over a dark table
Through the glass of a closed door.
The table is empty; the lights above sleep,
Now there is not the work of a genius to
Illuminate.

Everything is emptier now, without
Her life to give it form, and somehow
The world seems smaller, as if suddenly
It has boundaries, returned now
In the absence of the one
That exposed them as a fraud.

Doors are harder to open now I know
That she won't be on the far side,
Her eyes waiting to meet mine again.

So I am trapped here in this room,
In the quiet she left that even
The loudest music I have cannot remove,
Frozen again without her smile to melt
The core of my being, and her warm hand
To evaporate the frost that already
Is accumulating on my pale skin.

All the tears I never cried in her presence
Are queuing to leave my heavy heart,
Preventing me from moving
From this solitary outpost.

Perhaps they will desert me,
As all others will, when I once again
Cut through a beautiful heart
With the edges of my broken promises.

Then I will be as empty as
That dark table, observed only by
A dark sky and dormant lights
That look down upon me,
Disgusted at how I try to teach others,
But learn nothing myself.

And I shall await my next chance to
Mercilessly maim a heart I claim to love.

08/18/2002

Posted on 08/18/2002
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince