…to the pain

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 its’ time to catch
the 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 that all that is needed
is one tiny spark in the dark
and my heart has many questions, that my soul will never answer
© Ann Bagnall