…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