The Rotation
Upon a time, in verse, I’ll weave a tale so drear,
Of longing deep, for one held near, yet far, it doth appear.
I used to bide, in wait, for end of path obscure,
Now certain of my heart’s true quest, for thee, I do endure.
Thou art the aim I yearn for, through endless days and nights,
Immortal in my fancy’s flight, ne’er to dim thy lights.
Yet, herein lies the grief most tart, a truth I bear inside,
Hope’s visage fades; I play a part, where dreams and sorrow bide.
Forsooth, I lie! Each day I dream of thy return so sweet,
Assigning to clairvoyance’s beam, in future’s glimpse we meet.
Imagined talks, forgiveness spoke, in silence, we converse,
Yet life for me is but a joke, a lonely, cosmic curse.
Not living, nor do I draw breath, in waiting’s shackles bound,
Like stranded car in winter’s death, for rescue, I am found.
In self-pity, deep, I wallow, my state, I do lament,
The fault is mine, in sorrow’s hollow, my soul, in torment rent.
Pray, return not, for thy sake, I am a burden, grave,
No more upon thee, hardships take, from this, thyself do save.
No hope resides within my breast, this truth, I know too well,
Thy presence once, my heart did zest, now but a broken shell.
Yet hope, a flicker, still remains, to heal a soul so weary,
With compassion’s dwindling flames, to brighten life so dreary.
Thy spirit, I wish to revive, with empathy’s last glow,
’Tis in this act, I might derive a goodness, ere I go.
I pine for air, both cold and kind, that once did fill my chest,
Return to me, that breath, I find, in thee, my heart’s bequest.
O grant me back my vital breath, thou water fairy, dear,
Release me from this living death, conclude my odyssey here.
