Me Again

The ranges move away,
Leaving a lone mountain.
The clouds all depart
clearing for an empty sky.

Before you I
was cellophane, you saw through me.
The alchemist converted
me into mosaic glass.

This renaissance cathedral,
I built in your name,
has cobwebbed walls, a cracked ceiling.
A tired custom, chills through my bones.
Your choir stopped singing,
no confessions, no more praying.

I once felt your warmth
in the chimney fire you made.
Now I watch as the arsonist sets
all my joys and hopes aflame.

I sit by in this cell,
golden bars, another home.
Time moves forward, but
I feel it standing over me.

The flowers will eventually bloom,
then wither again.
And people will love again,
lovers break up, over again.
Children born and
the ill pass with age, over again.

But I’m still here,
barely out of bed,
eyes hardly open,
envisioning what was there.

Friends will marry,
travel far and wide,
move away, different cities,
have babies to raise.

Not me though,
scattered on the wooden floor,
limbs no longer connect.
Lost a role in your story,
senselessly existing.

And my love, pardon me,
I don’t mean to
rain over your summer dream.
I’m like a funeral occuring
next to your wedding.

You taught me to speak
a forbidden language
when I was muted down.
So then tell me,
who can I talk to now?

I will never be the same,
every key, every password,
only entrusted to you.
Never to be handed to your replicas or
to every failed understudy.

I wish you were
some monster, a villain.
But you remain a hero,
saving the day and
leaving me alone,
in the abyss where
time doesn’t move
and I’m living in a loop.