Untitled 4
How hard it is to look forward
when all you want is to look back
to find comfort in the images
lost in a fading season.
When everything you know
has crumbled in clouds of obscurity
lost in the oceans of displacement.
And the tears are there
but will not come
for to let them fall would be to betray
all the secrets your lips dare not confess.
Light holds space
like overexposed negatives
of photographs you were never meant to see,
strewn through your mind
in a sequence you cannot decipher,
pulling you deeper
from any semblance of reality you may reach for.
Open fingers left unscathed
and time that folds onward unfilled
like the emptiness of solitude within you.
You know nothing of what is,
only what was,
what never will be,
and the world around you feels
like an endless staircase descending
to nothing
and no one
and nowhere at all.
08 January 2006