The radio talks to itself.
I listen to the sound of her voice
As I remember it. No words,
Just the sound, as if she could
Speak silence in her own particular way.

Did she really believe it was me?
Can I really believe it wasn't?
She made me doubt my memory,
My self control; left me
Feebly to protest my innocence
As if I wanted to believe
In spite of the truth.

Suddenly the sound of the traffic
Behind me comes through a
Wood framed, first floor window,
And I am back there again.
That loneliness returns to me like
A comfort blanket, for in some
Perverse way I have missed it.

Shy away, echo of less happy times.
Hide yourself just too late to avoid
Taking backward steps from this
Contentment and peace I have found.
Replace my fond memories with
The bitter aftertaste I savoured
In my twisted youth, but now
Seek to wash away.

It was a moment that made
A difference, as are all the
Infinitesimal quanta from which
Our lives are made. A look so sharp
It pierced my heart; a shard of time
To make me bleed.

This blood will cleanse my soul,
Wash away the dust you left
To make it dull and grey.
This blood is warm, but to me you are
Cold and lifeless: a body of ice
With a heart of stone.

10/18/2006

Posted on 10/18/2006
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince