They say you can never go Home...

Soldiers of Sparta were allowed to return home after lost battles, only if carried dead upon their shields. I'm convinced this is a more practical and time-saving way to go about it.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Free Association After a Breakup

Yesterday I caught a fleeting glimpse of you
The first time in what's seemed like ages
You were wearing a sweater
The Color of Pain
The Color of Passion

I went on my way
Superficially distracted
By the work and people around me.
Which always seems to quell the tide
That now surges in my quiet hours
Which recently crescendoes late at night
Which bubbles noxiously to the Top when I'm alone.
The time that was once so precious
Peaceful, recharging, solemn
Is now made loud with the memories of you
And no song is just a song anymore
It is a backdrop--a prop--shaped to conform perfectly to my body
A jigsaw puzzle of heartbreak into which
I fit perfectly.

I pause in the solitude I am left with
I hear the cacaphony of Doubt
The Voices of Recrimination, blaming me.
I miss the days when I was unchanged
When my heart was in the off-position
When it was dead, yet perfunctorily beating
For I wouldn't feel the pain I feel.

So all the words I said:
All the things I felt:
Concerning What Was Best For Both;
All my good intentions and self-protective interests,
Just seemed to go out the door
In a fleeting moment
Along w/ your sweater.

Now I have an exercised heart,
But an interior life that has been poisoned
With the unpredictable miasma of emotion
The Same Color of your sweater.