…far away from me

The corner of my heart once reserved for you
vacant and echoing now, a hushed sound aching to be heard
yet smothered into silence, like a house without doors
where none can leave nor enter
like a moonless night
where the dripping darkness captures the light
unseen drip after unheard drop, a constant stream
my heart spilling empty, into emptiness
creating rivers that flow to the sea
where I am outside of myself, swimming in your dreams
far above the desolation, still hopeless of rescue
my melancholy becomes wings
the weight of which is too much, too much to bear
and still that is not enough, illusion faces reality at last
I am drifting on the trembling edge of the truth
a truth that I do not recall
here in the wild waved ethers of sky
seconds from midnight, but years from morning
susurrus whispering, emanates from the shadows
that I can feel but cannot see
their cold touch a strange comfort and damp like morning dew
what my eyes cannot see, my fingers now show to me
the shadows are painting me, stroke after gentle stroke
and I am in the shallows now
drifting towards indigo and far away from me
as if I have swallowed midnight
or midnight has swallowed me
the wings of my melancholy are sweeping the darkness
creating a wind, as if to set me free
but the fragrance of sorrow and the taste of regret
are still singing softly to me
and the flames once bright, that I fought to revive
like a candle long used
in surrender, they now slowly die
it is a gentle loss, a gentle death, a serene soliloquy
sounding out, into the absence of you
while filling the absence of me
and the dark empty places where we used to be
our love has fallen here, like flowers after rain
and only the ghosts of our petals remain
soon to return to the place from whence we came
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
even the moon, shall not see us leave
as we drift away on this broken breeze
our echoes retreating into the silent corners of the night
where in the mirrors of time, reflections have no secrets
but vanquished by love
even our reflections, have now left us behind
© Ann Bagnall