Two syllables: heartache.
This is not a simile,
not some poet’s allusive trope.
My heartache is real.
My angel has flown and my heart is with her.
Where once was joy and light
now lurks a foreboding
that darkness remains to fill my days
until we are one again.
This hurt imbues every breath
and every faltering heartbeat.
Is pain the one feeling left,
grief my new companion?
How can this lonely planet persist
now my sun is gone?
All my tomorrows are dull
counterfeits of my yesterdays.
My calendar is now just endless gloomy Sundays.
Lifeline, do me a favour:
do not tarry long.
Each passing moment widens the gulf
from my coloured days.
Grey now covers everything
until my angel and I are one.
I walked through the frost this morning,
no colder than my ravaged heart.
Why do you keep beating?
Can’t you see your torn apart?
This is not my world.
Where is my sun, my stars, my moon?
Take me home with you my lovely,
I am so terribly alone.
This is not a simile,
not some poet’s allusive trope.
My heartache is real
and until my love and I are one
this heartache will remain.
