as those who are of my persuasion are
left to my own devices
settled in my place
yet unsettled.
Having traveled paths long thought that I
in having chosen
would be a path denied me
yet here I am on the path alone
sundered from she
due to the disease
the truth of which will not come
from deceit.
I sit and listen to the music of those departed
and then of those that remain
and search my mind and my world
for those in the past
quick in wit
angelic in countenance
or even fair to spend time
on a leisurely day
And those who have passed beyond my sight are gone
forever beyond my reach
and those I can glimpse from a distance
in their joy
I dare not intrude to shatter
the truth
or the illusion of happiness
for my gain.
And thus only words remain by which I
sitting in an empty home
with my hope for the future
away for this night
like many others that will stretch into the remainder of my days
can find the most minute of expression
with which to warm myself
despite Winter's blanket.
And though the season is warm
and filled with hope
the truth is that I have been here
alone
since the beginning
and I shall be alone
At the end.
This poem is a reprint from my MySpace page. But since it was the poem that led to this blog, it belongs here.
