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Timeless Torment

In the blackest of your moments, wait with no fear 

Why do I feel your words and presence, so close and so near? 

Are we doing this again, communicating through signs?

How is this even possible, when I am no longer yours, and you are no longer mine?

It’s been six months, when will this end? 

I can still feel you, this connection won’t seem to bend 

If we were not soulmates, then why do we feel like this? 

Despite all this time and all the others, it’s each other we both still miss 

The night has a thousand eyes, and the day but one 

Yet the light of the bright world dies with the dying sun 

The mind has a thousand eyes, and the heart but one 

Yet the light of a whole life dies, when love is done 

They say that love supposedly starts with a spark

And that might be true

But if I were to wish you a love, I wouldn’t wish fire for you 

You see, fire is powerful; it burns bright and then it is gone 

It’s beautiful and warm, but it doesn’t last very long 

So, instead of wishing you a love that burns 

I wish you a love like a river twists and turns 

It changes and it flows, it is powerfully free 

Yet it always manages to find its way back to the sea

As we no longer speak, I want to share with you these two poems by Edgar Allen Poe in the hope you may one day see

For they bring me comfort, as your memory continues to haunt me ~ 

“From childhood’s hour I have not been 

As others were—I have not seen 

As others saw—I could not bring 

My passions from a common spring— 

From the same source I have not taken 

My sorrow—I could not awaken 

My heart to joy at the same tone— 

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— 

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn 

Of a most stormy life—was drawn 

From ev’ry depth of good and ill 

The mystery which binds me still— 

From the torrent, or the fountain— 

From the Red Cliff of the mountain— 

From the sun that ’round me roll’d 

In its autumn tint of gold— 

From the lightning in the sky 

As it pass’d me flying by— 

From the thunder, and the storm— 

And the cloud that took the form 

(When the rest of Heaven was blue) 

Of a demon in my view—".

“In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed—

But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! What is not a dream by day

To him whose eyes are cast

On things around him with a ray

Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream—that holy dream,

While all the world were chiding,

Hath cheered me as a lovely beam

A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,

So trembled from afar—

What could there be more purely bright

In Truth's day-star?”



◄ The Walking Wounded


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