A Slow Burn

This poem was written awhile back.

I imagine it would be a day like this, 
except that it does not matter which day of the week,
that I shall have to surrender the earthy bouquet of presence.
It would have to be like a flower, 
that has wilted a little more than it had to.
 A flower dead. As I search for a moment to bury it.

 It would be a day just like this. 
With the night just nigh. The mind hazy. 
The heart empty and aching. 
If around that quiet moment I need the fires to congress not,
 then I would have to forget the slow sear burn, 
the embers and its fruit inside . 

If that night I lean to recall your hand 
kiting around my temples, 
reading the lapses of speech
 from my furrowed brows, 
(as one reads braille), 
I would need to forget the element called wind 
and the faith I had in language or the lack thereof. 

It would be a night 
when I would want the noise inside 
my hollowed mind to drown. 
I have to remind myself not to go to the rivers. 
Because rivers are just rivers. 
They don't listen. 
They only pass you by. 

And if by then I win this fierce night. 
Then would it be by the passage of old hazy days? 
I know not If, apart from the embrace of cold absence,
I still need to hold onto the pocket change called tomorrow.

Reviews

[Shimmerbliss/CAF]

There is just something about the sound and the voice in your work that speaks to something so deep in me that I cannot even pinpoint it. Your words are full of a resonating, moving, tidal beauty that moves me along completely mesmerized. This is another gem.

I especially am taken by these lines:

"It would be a night
when I would want the noise inside
my hollowed mind to drown.
I have to remind myself not to go to the rivers.
Because rivers are just rivers.
They don't listen.
They only pass you by. "

[Abhra]

Thank you so so much. Do you know that you make my day? :)

[Shimmerbliss/CAF]

I love your poetry.

[Tree]

You have superbly captured a moment of reflection. Melancholy,
achey and sad. Here's to hoping you won that "fierce night..."
Great write.

[Ed Hart]

yes, you have a voice that sings, and you hold the high notes long and clearly...which of us hasn't earned the scar tissue of the 'embrace of cold absence'