The Things That Haunt Me


The permanent scars of my heart

Image courtesy of Adobe Stock

I have grown wise in the ways of sorrow
I hear its song calling and I surrender again
as it weaves around me like a clinging vine

Here I hide myself from the world
in the velvet serenity of acceptance
and the fragile nature of hope

The brief echoes, of the echoes of you
flow in on the rolling waves of my pain
dark ink flooding the deep wells of my soul

I see myself in silhouette, watching over me
my shadow-self, free to wander untethered and alone
detached from this endless night in which I drift

Where my pain is a caged bird
whose wings sing in the trembling silence
of the shifting shades of the night

Memories thrive in this empty space
their blooming carries thorns as well as petals
for one cannot be found without the other

Their sting nameless and serpentine
light perceived in a fleeting moment
quenched like a candle, by a single breath

In the push and pull of the tides
time wears away the sharp edges
the familiar rhythm of grief

Once again, I ache to be empty
as emptiness seems closer to free
but I dare not look away from this dream

For here the things that haunt me
fill the deep voids in my soul
the permanent scars of my heart

© Ann Bagnall

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