Behind an Open Door

If only tomorrow would fail to come
And this burden from her chest were lifted,
There was no end, this day were simply done,
This were the number of her days gifted.
There was sleep she sought, and the sleep sought her,
Flattering, that the void felt incomplete.
Eternity and nothing now a blur,
Like the moment a dog dies in the street.
She sits there and thinks and opens her eyes,
And stares at the next soul who might save hers.
So many moments, this too passes by,
What if she’s made to go on as a curse?
Unique. Never again, never before,
She tries to hide behind an open door.

To Argue With the Vessel

A fragile crutch of flesh and bone,
Supports another wounded soul.
Water argues with the vessel
In which it is contained,
Progress made is infinitesimal,
Naught but vanity is gained.
A smile on pained lips and three
Unused wishes at days end may see,
This day again becoming night,
This tired form and I,
Simply wait for morning and new sight.
Where life and death combine.

On Being Apart

Good morning my love today
When I awoke and saw not your face
There was emptiness. The morning light did say
“You shall not be here, long, without, in this place.”
But I could hardly believe the light that spoke
For every moment away from you deprives
My soul.
Though my time away, my soul bespoke,
It was not prepared, yet shall survive.
How many dawns apart are we?
How many?
Not soon enough, we’ll see.

By Herself

She is awoken by voices,
She is alone.
In a strange place
She calls home.
Echoing off the walls,
In the midst of silence found,
They who have no name,
Each of their words resound.
She hates the silence,
It’s when they are so loud.
Whatever noise she can make
To ward off absent sound.
There is a voice she fears above most,
The one who, from the silence, boasts.
She hates his persistence.
She is insistent that he leave.
She fails and fails and fails again.
Any other voice from the din!
The many shout at her,
She does not give in.
But the one quietly calls,
From behind a door that’s cracked open
When the others leave.
He calls to her, her fears.
Things forgotten from across the years,
And then she remembers why
They were pushed aside.
Then in her heart
She deeply wishes the voices to depart.
And she hears
So softly in her ear,
Him whisper:
“You will believe us absent, asleep,
You will rejoice in your soul deep.
You will forget what I tell you now
And you will remember each time we return our sound
You, in your fear, may not belong,
And we will never truly be gone.”

She closed her eyes,
And awoke alone; or so she was told.
She rose to the window,
And thought the sun too bright to be this cold.