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Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Poem - Surviving the Storms

Each flash
of lightning
at four
in the morning
tells the street lights
to
blink.
Early hours
are often the hardest;
this is the time I had
reserved for
your needs.

I walk around our place
and mutter,
or sob,
or demand,
"Oh honey."
One way I ask "why"
and plea for your return
and condemn
god
or god's
nonexistence.

I turn the lights out
to appreciate
nature's performance
and I instinctively mutter,
"it's okay honey; I'm right here."
I wonder if
you
are here
telling me the same?

I walk around our place
and pick up everything
you had once touched;
like our cat, Lucy,
rubbing scent
onto
and off
of random objects.
By now I have
rubbed
off any
trace
of your magic.

The clouds move on
and rumble
in the distance;
the sun is peeking
over the horizon.
Early hours
are often the hardest;
this is when
my want
of you
is resumed.
At five
in the morning
I am resigned
to loneliness
and longing.
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