I once loved living near the ocean, walking by it, listening to it.
Now I find myself not caring if I ever see it again, but I do
feel differently about
you.
Is it your voice, I would rather hear, your eyes, I want to drown
within, your limpid pools of blue. Am I to feel this way,
referring to what I have
revealed?
I could have kept it to myself as so many other thoughts
and feelings I have at one time or another.
All of which I long to remain
secretive.
It is my way of protecting you from the stark reality of it all. All of
which I want not for you to be aware of, All of which
may cause you irreparable
harm.
A whisper of a touch, and I am left with a subtle remembrance.
Was she to have seen me gazing into her eyes,
momentarily, as it may have
been…
But to have found myself drowning within them where only
teardrops are formed and silently wept. And I to have
captured the moment within a memory
woven onto an increment
of time…
Would she have ever recalled it? Perhaps, if she found the matter
somewhat of importance. Otherwise, it will
have failed as well as faded away into
oblivion.
Was I to have grown fearful of it?
Of she and her blank
stare?
An unconscious thought I may have always unknowingly perceived so much.
Yet, here it lay, and ever-present.
Who will have forgotten about it? Am I left to wonder
will have I? So much always slips past
me.
I really wanted to be this person you thought I was and not
the person I had become. And I regret my having
done so,
but I could not live a lie, nor could I represent myself differently.
Realizing there are others who have. Those who have
lived before me. And those who will
have lived after
me.
Secrets are to remain
as secrets.
Especially those which are meant to be. Ones which haunt you
in the middle of the night, in the middle of
a dream.
I was once one of them, manifesting within a haunting memory.
If only you had not closed your eyes. If only you had not
lingered. If only you had not reached
out to touch
me.
But you needed reassurance. And now there is nothing left of you.
Only a lie, a beautiful lie. Maybe if I thought of
you as being more than
a dream.
Maybe I should have seen you more clearly. Instead of visualizing
you as a silhouette of a shadow. Appearing
only when I wanted you
to appear.
Fading in the middle of the night when I wanted you to fade away.
I do not know, but it seemed as though I had lost a sense of reality.
But it was far better than facing what I could not face.
And here you are.
Nothing more, but a fragment of a grand illusion,
one I had conjured within
a dream.
Maybe it was your eyes, the manner in which they change colour
when you tell the truth, they look different, the various
colorings and hues. And your pupils dilate,
revealing the person
you love,
But not as often now that you know I attempted to deceive you.
About James Sterling
James began writing at the age of 13, till now he has published about 12500 pages of poetry on Facebook! He finally retired from work at the age of 62.
James is proud to share that he never edits what he has written, and that is the beauty of his writing!!
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