Untitled, 18th November 2015

I wake and check the time,
your face remains, filling darkened spaces
where I fought to find your absence.

Haunting was enough in scrawling sleep, but
the ghost should stay at peace when memories creep
from dusk to dawn, and give me little sanctuary.

After years of imprinted grief,
you place your kiss upon my lips, distilled distance distinct
through faded reality, those slow walking phantoms.

I wake to find your ghost resting within my bed, filling
those frozen sheets with lamented adversity instead.
The lies we once said, “We could have it all!”

But, I was a coward back then.
Time crashed against raw rocks, and affliction freshens
morning promise, that new suns bring new beginnings.

Because, harbinger of once again, I’ll see you in my dreams,
the accompanying passion of our spectral sleep,
long missed hours between weeping angels and memory.

I’m locked in fevered foreign microcosmic grief, feeling
your shadow out of time, your misplaced impression,
never lessening with fragmented age.

But, I was a coward back then.
Do you ever see the ghost of me that shambles
though existence as little more than your recall?

I am lost behind your eyes, your grounded smile,
which falls through time-and-again, to please
new iconic strangers with some souls remainder.

That I was a coward back then.
And in your memory that is all you’ll see,
the half-life, crashing emptiness of me.

Poem © Phen Weston 2015

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6 thoughts on “Untitled, 18th November 2015

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