This is the end of glory days,
the termination of perfect
words falling into place
and reception by
candlelight and praise.

We are forgotten for
months on end,
rediscovered in July
when the Southern hemisphere
envelopes itself in rain and
the early sighs of winter,
while the Northern melts
in the hungry inferno of
a distant star.

But in this hour,
tomorrow is no consolation.

Wanting to be loved
forever-ever-ever...
(listen closely as I echo
myself into a whisper)
for
ever -
no reversing fever,
no reserving gladness,
replacing it with sadness
and indecision.

We are so fickle,
changing desires and obsessions
like daily bandages,
tending to these wounds
with salt and vinegar -
aggravating these abrasions
with nightly regularity,
to remind us that
we live; we love; we feel
with pain and reluctance.

Watching the first flowers of Spring
struggling to overcome the
heavy sighs of an alien
winter in October,
I push my sinking heart
up into my throat,
holding onto last quarter's radiance -
an afterburn to fuel the
desolation of November.

10/12/2003

Posted on 10/12/2003
Copyright © 2024 Karen Michelle