…still haunt me

The moon seemed solemn and shadows were shifting
sad winds sifting through the night
stars scattered through the sombre sky
their sparks dying softly and silently
although you were there, right there beside me
the distance between us could not be measured
our time was done
our sands had already fallen through the hourglass
slowly and unnoticed in the moment
once drenched in the veils of moonlight
in the beginning we were a work of art
observed from the distance our love was perfect
mysterious and beautiful, but under each layer
each careful brushstroke
we hid the darkness, the unseen, the ugly
the things we never spoke of
I once wrote your name in my heart
in an effort to illuminate the darkness
only to discover that you were indeed
the lightning and the thunder, all bluster and noise
and I was just a flower
abandoned to the storm, no colour, no hope
the harsh tones of my blooming
my fragile petals unable to withstand
the constant deluge, the ever-increasing danger
those secrets buried in the walls unseen by other eyes
swimming against the tide. sharp thorns wherever I touched
dreams of forever falling away, filtering through my fingers
I never offered my surrender
in your hubris you didn’t see, that I was always one step ahead
and you were always one step behind
your complacency was your downfall
I waited for you to look away
and under the cover of night, quietly, I took my leave
in the ensuing years, in my freedom, there was also loneliness
and memories, that at times, filtered out the worst of it
the tides of love ebbed and flowed
and I found myself still drowning in thoughts of you
but that door, once opened, was closed so long ago
we were a raging fire that perished in the path of a reckless storm
burning our bridges, watching our shadows
dancing like autumn leaves
in the light of the flames, aching to be still
in the face of errant winds
and even now after years have passed
even in the absence of echoes
even though your ghost is lost in the mirror
you are ever seared upon my soul
and your whispers still haunt me
© Ann Bagnall