Spring Clean

The sun transgressed upon empty fields,
between the lilacs dignity of renewal,
A perfect day for throwing away
those long quiescent memories.

So, I climbed the staircases to each one,
Filed away, but not undone in time,
Realigned ready for spring cleaning.

The box was where it had sat
for three years untouched, but impressed,
with purple walls that held between mistakes
and swirling reawakening of my short comings.

I knew this hand would come around,
And in each face I had once worn, drowned fresh
reminiscences, a solitude of broken futures.

Each item within choked recall,
an old wallet of star crossed lines,
empty now, but once-upon-a-time full
of December emotions undefined.

A belt, a bracelet, photographs
of that day we met and fell in love,
and grew intimate hearts in summer sun.

A bag containing broken leaves,
Plucked from your hair after making love
Beneath autumn hues and golden gods,
precious perceptions persecuted now.

And then below it all, the journal of grief,
collecting dust, a manuscript of misplaced trusts
that youth had marred in alacrity.

A face of understanding, enfolding merely pain,
where memorial resurfaces with primordial wake
and lines jump and carry me away,
in each face I wore I drowned afresh.

It starts like this…

“I ripped the pages from this life,
A regret that devours the love
I threw from my own callous cliffs.

My heart is breaking and I am alone,
sinking in my own wrongdoing,
atonement laughs in its deepening waters”

And as I recite each page of
crumbling certainty and depressions cage
A letter tumbles and cascades.

“Last night I had a dream that I was back
At our woods. It seemed so real. Then I woke up
And for a few seconds I thought you were there.
I lay there trying not to move, so it would last.
You weren’t there in the end.”

Each line reflects your voice,
pressing down with the heaviness of spheres
tumbling into black despair, you echo there,
you echo there.

“I don’t know what will happen with us,
but you just sent me vicious words again,
and I probably deserve them. Each time
you promise change, giving only lies.”

Each line blisters with almost religious thirst
for each promise I took from our falling leaves
and desecrated upon our kingdom.

The possibilities I threw from presence
to mimic my destructive reverberations,
the rubble that warranted a lifetime, cut short.

Each word slices into old elapsed lacerations
and spring cleaning opens up misapplications
that I will not let be buried in day of future’s past.

The mistakes come into piercing focus
and I drown within the faces I once was,
the crippling domination of my sins,
spring cleaning is never done,

as I replace each item with attention
locking them securely from my aversion
for another year, or three.

When maybe I can finally clear the memories
from the words so freely thrown away,
“I love you always, and hope you believe me.”

Abandoned promises that forever spill
into the many faces I have become,
knowing you’ll never see my remorse unspun
between the falling autumn leaves

Where you echo,
“I love you always, and hope you believe me.”

Poem © Phen Weston 2015
Image © Phen Weston 2015

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