You sing within my bones
And resonate my waking hours
With gentle harmonies of disillusion.
You sap from me my memories
My fear of having a past that mattered
Baggage that marred and deserted
So many before.
Life before you seems a dream
A nightmare I’ve barely awoken from
Shaking,
Sweaty,
Throat hoarse from screaming,
Reaching and grasping for some hold
Some ledge in the retreating landscape.
You are not my savior;
No.
You are not a rope or a ledge
To climb up or hang myself with.
You are not a drink or a drug
To forget with or find some shallow high,
Some tainted sweet taste of escape.
You are none of these things.
You are none of these things.
You are neither the patterns
Or spontaneity in existence,
Cohabiting a home of flesh and thought
Spiraling in conjunction.
You are not the thoughts that shriek
In swiftly passing days
Or grueling nights.
You are not the worries
That perch outside the windows
Announcing rain with weathered claws
Screeching upon glass.
You are neither the anxious murmurs
That tap on your doors
While slipping hatred underneath
Signed by friends
You know so much better than that,
But begin to doubt anyways.
You are so much more than all of this
And I love you for that,
Because it’s all I really know of you.
And everyday I regret that.
And everyday I wish I knew more.
Moonlit Poetry 