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1047

by Jaydon Cole

So far removed from the edge of reality,
And here we stand; the miles and time
Reflected in our voices.
But now that we're here
With nothing but words to say,
I wonder if these starless nights,
And lightless days will
Keep us pacified throughout our ageless days.

And I wish that you could still
Smile at me in that way that
Seemed to say that everything
Would turn out to be okay.

And there's nothing left but you
And me and the obscured world
That appears to be
One thousand forty-seven miles away.
This is where it all began,
So many dreams lost into the
Haze of our little empty world;
Here, where we've faded away.

And I wish I was still able
To feel your hand inside of mine,
But the nerves have become so
Numb over the miles and time.

And I offer up another dream
To try to create imagined somethings
To fill our empty delusions.
Yesterday seemed so near,
One thousand forty-seven miles away,
And everything is closer then they appear
Just on the tip of another repressed dream;
But you've never seemed so far away.

And I wish I could still feel
Some presence of you,
But I hold on to the dreams
To forget that the delusion is you

08/04/2004

Posted on 08/04/2004
Copyright © 2020 Jaydon Cole

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Amanda L Marron on 08/04/04 at 02:54 PM

"And I wish I could still feel Some presence of you, But I hold on to the dreams To forget that the delusion is you".....love this last stanza, great write

Posted by Amanda J Cobb on 08/09/04 at 12:14 PM

There are indeed some wonderful images in here (wonderful as in apt, not necessarily 'happy' or other connotations thereof). The fourth and the sixth stanzas are my favorite (i.e. what I think are the most well-done/telling/effective). The rhythm of this is kind of like a bumpy road - smooth one minute, seatbelt cutting into you the next. While in some instances that would bother me, I think it works well here. Overall, nice job, and welcome to Pathetic. :)

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 02/27/15 at 11:18 AM

there is much in this poem in which to reflect. there is much polished surface in it to see oneself.

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