…from our ghosts

Softly the night is falling again, a symphony of painful silence
but the solitude does not bother me
the luminous moments still drench me
and the veils of moonlight are lost in them
memories of you awakening
slowly rising from the dark depths of my soul
where I once laid them to rest in an ocean of grief
where loss maintains the trembling flames
that somehow seem to brightly burn
even in the wind and the pouring rain
your shadows still cling to me
sometimes the weight is almost too much to bear
sometimes they bring a sliver of hope
but it is the things left unsaid that hurt the most
the echoes of unspoken words
that whisper softly in every silent night
where both the moonlight and I drench ourselves in melancholy
until finally, no light penetrates here
all hope scattered to the four winds
perhaps this is how it was meant to be
for the relentless back and forth of the pendulum between us
in time has inflicted the darkest wounds that love has in its’ arsenal
those that remain unseen and unspoken
this heart of mine still longs for you but the memories alone
like an incoming tide, are constantly overwhelming me
from which I ache to slip away
but no matter how much I try, your face still haunts me
precious memories of your touch
still linger upon my skin, as real as yesterday
you are the tide that erases nothing
and I am the moon waxing and waning
I tell myself this is healing, but I know the real truth
that we never heal from our ghosts
and our embers are still burning in a vast labyrinth, built from loss
in the shifting shadows, of the quiet hours
© Ann Bagnall