Time

Nowadays
he sits alone in the shadows
waiting for her return, -
and it is as if there has not been
minutes, hours, [years]
since she last walked out the door.

Time simply stopped.
Now he only waits -

Sometimes
there are people there,
walking through his house
swirling up the dust
and stirring him in his timelessness,
but at the same time they are not there,

not really, -
because if they were
they would not be saying those terrible
hurtful things.
She isn't dead.

She was only out for a pack of cigarettes
and a bottle of milk, and she lost track
of the devious time.
She'll be back once she realises
that he is still waiting.
She has all the time in the world.

~ ~

The confusion is the worst.
Why does he keep waking up with
a tear stained face?
Why come the sobs that he is too ashamed
to let out?
The confusion, - the questions
of the very worst kind, they are not welcomed.

They know. That's why they keep coming back
instead of just closing and locking the door behind them
when they leave
and he has heard their whispers
and seen the looks.
Pity.
Pity of what?
Pity of the lost time?
Or that he is only floating through
what's left of his life,
without noticing changes or the fact
that he hasn't eaten the last four days?

How can you miss someone
if you don't realize they're gone?
There are reasons, though
for not seeing and choosing not to hear
denial was never a bad thing
not when it comes to this.
She

was all he had left and now -
she
is not there
any more.



He knew that he would break upon seeing
that the door wouldn't be opened again,
accompanied
by an apology from slightly breathless lips.
Every time a heart of glass is broken,
the shards become harder and harder
to piece back together
- he can swear that his is now fully dust.

nowadays
or today
or tomorrow
or next year
or yesterday
[it won't matter]
realization hits. He has prayed
along with all those who care for him
and who cook his meals and make the bed
that he wasn't going
to be alone at that point.
because the Shards
were sharp enough to cut through
skin, flesh and bones.




[...and then time starts again with slow,
thumping
beats...]




Poetry by muddy waters
Read 999 times
Written on 2006-05-03 at 16:14

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