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this is where your fear has brought us.
by Rachelle Howe
the void is colder these days.
the ghosts
have come to collect rent, and
i tell them, again, that
i'm short this month.
we used to play games, you and i,
about who was
more normal and boring.
you'd win, i'd muse, and
tip my hat by the fireplace.
you were always the source of warmth,
back behind the yellow stage, and
i watched the grass grow
on your side of the fence.
you've got all of me,
i said one last time.
i'll lie to you now,
though i'm scarcely able to.
it comes as such a surprise
to both of us that i'm still
in this place
where you can't hurt me,
a place where the shadows
don't come a'calling.
and i sing to the universe
about heartstrings and forevers,
forevernots, and aftermath.
but i sing,
even though
you've always
been my vocal chords.
i may not need you.
i could sign my soul.
(i could sign it off,
in blood,
with your name
on the dotted line.)
12/13/2003 Author's Note: i hope you're happy.
Posted on 12/13/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristine Briese on 12/13/03 at 06:52 PM Ye gods. This is wrenching and bitter and slightly desperate. And utterly beautiful, as well. |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 12/17/03 at 04:44 PM "the void is colder these days.
the ghosts
have come to collect rent, and
i tell them, again, that
i'm short this month." The whole poem is superb, but that first stanza is pure genius. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 07/09/04 at 11:31 PM more of this please |
| Posted by Andrew S Adams on 03/13/05 at 03:34 AM this is so eloquently put for the subject matter; it speaks of bitterness without coming on overbearing. that takes a lot of skill, and you've pulled this off beautifully. peace:a |
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