…I cannot set you free

I turn the past over and over
like a pebble in the palm of my hand
and like the pebble, the past does not diminish
or become softer to the touch
as I roll it back and forth and back again
the past, far from fading
becomes heavier and harder to hold
it ebbs and flows until I no longer know
what is past and what is now
and I cannot distinguish the pleasure from the pain
just waves of emotions, again and again
and an aching desire to release the past
to fling that pebble far from me
out into the undulating waves of the sea
that are softly serenading me
with their quiet, sibilant whispers
the siren songs, the memories, that I both long for and fear
the past constantly calling
then retreating into the emptiness with me
where for seconds and minutes, I cannot breathe
then in familiar repetition, it turns back to me
as I, in my desolation, turn back to thee
and I cannot do it, I cannot set you free
I cannot release you, I cannot release me
so I clutch the pebble so tightly that my hand bleeds
and my heart weeps as the light flees
© Ann Bagnall