If by morning the sun does not, and you awaken within the dark, how am I to find thee? Alas, if only the sky were not filled
with brightly shining falling
stars…
Were they the ones leaving a trail of tears, their burning embers
falling unceasingly within the midnight sky, your hand
reaching as if wanting to capture a handful.
…I pray you were not one of them, distant as you had become,
and I, imagining you had become a star, one which had
filled a void, an empty space,
realizing
there might have been another star that had fallen out of grace,
and you were placed where once
it lay…
Am I to imagine you being one of them, a brightly shining, falling
star leaving a trail of tears? You have never fallen out of sight,
beauteous, as you
are.
If only you were to remain a whisper within a tear, I would hear
your voice while I lay sleeping.
On a Sunday, you were birthed within a twice-wept tear drowning
in the sorrow that I lie clinging to, frightened if I were to let
you go, I would lose another memory you haunted
me within a dream before you were
conceived;
never have I regretted your arrival…
Am I to feel as such, longing for you to appear? A distorted image,
opaque, translucent, suffocating, as you lie struggling to
take a breath.
Should I breathe for you, inhale, exhale, and then take another
breath until you breathe on your own
without my assistance?
late, another tear awaits, and you shall fall into a void of emptiness,
praying that I will have remembered
you.
And at times, praying I am finally rid of you by reason of insanity.
An unconscious thought I perceive that entrance to be, the words
unkindly written, ones I would rather not admit to;
one of my many imperfections,
at times, being unpleasant. I regret I cannot smile continually, as
do you, whenever you feel happy. An emotion I have
disregarded for years.
I do remember feeling as such,
but so long ago, the moment swept by since, and I have seemed
to have forgotten how to. Apparently, it is a natural
occurrence, smiling, which you do
quite beautifully…
before they had fallen, I could hear them, the words she had wept
within her tears, the sentences and paragraphs
revealing her every
emotion.
This leaves me to wonder, Was I to have felt them, all of which she
silently expresses, Was I to have gazed longingly into
her eyes. Had her thoughts become
cryptic
awaiting to be reread again and again until our last conversation became well remembered. Was it the sound, although she
had heard it before, still, it frightened
her;
guttural, at first, raspy and hoarse, before growing silent again,
Was it a voice she heard within the dark or a creature,
a wolf or a dog or possibly
a raccoon.
that same sound before when a raccoon had become cornered.
Should she have thought about it, taking time to pause before
she arrived at another conclusion? So many precious
time was being lost.
She could have been running instead of fearing an
imminent attack, which was sure
to come.
About James Sterling
James began writing at the age of 13, and he has published about 12500 pages of poetry on Facebook! He 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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