Missive

If at the end we become strangers, this last time
and collapse in on ourselves like a star.
Try to remember, how the light from morning
once stretched over a skyline, to settle in on our crowns.

A fleeting city, a monument to ghosts and moments,
paused to anoint us. It allowed us to be,
who we had dreamt we could be
when we used to play in front of the mirror.
I try to imagine if the day never ended,
had the light not burned itself out
could we have remained in a city of memories?
And even now, as we return to darkness
I am aware of a horizon surrounding everything,
which has not yet disappeared.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the memories never disappear...but it is ironic, isn't it, Jamie...
we are strangers when we meet and sometimes strangers when we depart...
the more we get to know each other sometimes, them more we drift apart.
feeling intensity with what you wrote here...and lots of memories of this happening.
j.

[Beano]

Thank you dear Jacob!

Jamie X

[emmajoy]

Your poem seems to be an unapologetic sadness to what appears near gone from our present lives. But, surely we need cling on to what there is - there's so much to wonder at. If we work together, if we share and care, do what we should, surely that horizon surrounding everything will survive. As MUST our interim patience, hope, logic and protective instincts survive. Your words are subtly powerful, they warn and, in a strange way inspire as the negative can.

[Beano]

Hello Emma. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.

I do often seem to write about absence or loss, and that certainly features again here. This poem also was written to appreciate the joy of once having had what may then be lost, so I am glad that you found something inspiring in it.
Best, Jamie.