Addicted To The Pain

One tiny spark in the dark

Image courtesy of Adobe Stock

Some things take time to grow
some take time to fade
that which burns in haste
is soon extinguished
leaving little devastation in its wake

but that which takes it time to catch
things that grow from a timid flame 
encouraged by the winds of time
to become a roaring fire 

linger long and pay no heed
to the warnings of the rising storm 
defying efforts to erase 
what went before
turning away from the signs

now I am standing here
on the edge of pain
the sharpness of the arrow
still lingers
a wound, deeply set in my soul

in this place 
where flowers once bloomed
and where the seasons turned
one after the other
in quiet repetition

where the sun and the moon
worked in harmony
and precious rain 
and the winter thaw
gave life to beauty once more

in this hallowed place
now only the ghosts 
of our memories roam
lost and tragically beautiful

time, like melting ice
is slipping away 
between the cracks
dripping slowly, one silent drop
after another
into the pools of misery
beneath the bitter shadows 
of the now haunted trees 

stripped bare and trembling 
in the cold moonlight
they implore the sun
to return to their leaves
to offer some relief 
for the hours of grief

and still, I stand here
locked behind the doors 
of our past
you on one side
me on the other

a sliver of light
bleeding through the frame
illuminating the reality
that those doors 
remain forever closed
a constant barrier between us

soft silver 
slipping out from below
and through the keyhole
which painfully allows 
brief glimpses

it strokes false hope
as you might stroke 
a frightened child
just to coax them into sleep
in the full knowledge
that fear 
can still find them in dreams
if it is so inclined

each of us ever aware 
that the other is there
so close
just a breath away
yet the distance between us 
grows greater every day

the void in my soul 
becomes deeper and darker 
in the vast empty space
where every shadow shifts 
into the shape of you
I am addicted to the pain
the earth scorched 
and ever marked
my heart in ever present danger

but it is not the door or the walls
that keep me from leaving
but my chains
forged in your fires
a constant reminder

all that is needed
one tiny spark in the dark
and my heart 
has many questions
that my soul 
will never answer

© Ann Bagnall

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