…deep inside of me

This is the hour, this is the ritual
there is an ache, deep inside of me
where no-one can ever see
an almost unbearable longing
for something, or someone
that must ever remain un-named
the whispers that haunt me
the reminders of what I have lost
the echoes, the heat that lingers
the times that suddenly I awaken
in the deep depths of the night
a familiar shadow, watching over me

whispering sweet nothings
into the aching void inside of me
the tides of the moon erase nothing
but redraw the lines of my grief
and just like the moon
I am constantly waxing and waning
unable to walk away, unable to stay
I whisper to the shifting shadows
and the dreams of the past
that are once more awakening
they answer no call
but somehow relate to my misery

they surround me in soundless empathy
for this is the time of remembering
an agreement once struck
between my heart and my haunting
the past returns when the soul calls
and nothing ever really dies
whether it was loved
or feared with such devotion
so I surrender to my ghosts
acknowledge the impossible truths
the what-ifs and the almosts

I make my shrouds
from the shafts of moonlight
the clouds above gather in mourning
as the fast fleeing night
with all its secrets and whispers
is quickly disappearing
into the ancient mirror of time
and now I am alone here in the dark
gently drifting on sorrow’s sea
but as I go, I still feel your soul
quietly echoing back to me
© Ann Bagnall