It was the nightmare that awoke me:
The same knock at our door,
The news of your death hitting me
With such force that I fall to the floor,
Even though I have heard it repeated
Every night since then.
With a tearful sort of panic, I reached
Across our bed to hold you:
I couldn't find you, of course, but I'd
Almost forgotten
That you really weren't here anymore.
Years have passed -
What sort of fool am I?
I'm stuck in a rut,
And the man that I do find beside me
Can do nothing to ease the pain.
I feel so guilty; I know it hurts him,
For he does everything that he can and more,
But just has to wait until I cry myself
Back to sleep; back into your arms...
The memories hold me so tightly
That I can never tell whether they'll ground me
Or if I'm finally going to shatter.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
