Makes me wonder if it mightn’t be easier to lose them to death, rather than life.
Unspeakably selfish, I remind myself, knowing I’d take back those words.
No, I would.
In this moment however, drawing no comparisons,
I allow myself emotion, I allow myself compassion.
I wonder how many walk the earth,
Pulling behind them a caravan of ghosts,
Disembodied voices echoing in the chambers of their hearts,
Powerless minds harkening the need to look back
every time when looking forward one is faced with the premonition of doom.
Rather nothing so dramatic,
but the prospect of living through pain that one has survived one too many times,
the pain of losing a loved one not to death, but life.
There is something soul shattering about witnessing promises wither,
all the good intentions not enough to pave the way to forever.
They don’t wither away to nothingness though, but crystallise into shards,
reflecting hues of heartbreak multifarious as the colours of autumn,
clairvoyant in the promise of coming winter.
Will I survive winter if it comes?
The ghosts all whisper, I will.
I hug those whispers close, turn them into a prayer.
Entranced by memories of old,
I sift through the sepia to reach past the mists of time,
touching abandonment, tasting regret – not for what once was, but what could have been,
breathing in the acrid smoke of trust torched in the flames of betrayal,
betrayal that made easy that masking of hurt with anger,
bitter recriminations lingering in the aftertaste of sweet surrender,
building faith with hope recycled from the last time it was reduced to dust,
and the time before that, and that one time again, and again, and again.
Courage, or foolishness, I’ve often wondered?
Or just naïve optimism fuelled by ideals, nursing an addiction to pain?
The friendliness of the ghosts has me shaking my head,
the weight of the corpses still causes me pain,
Dragging them behind me as I travel through life,
By the time I die I guess it’ll be quite the train!
My companions those lessons that remain
from being forgotten then reminded of time and again.
Which brings be back to musing if I can bear once more,
to lose to life those I love in an encore that cannot guarantee
survival, nor sanity.
Can you fault me then, can you not see?
How death would be simple, though not easy.
Love, friendship, memories eternally
safe from the ravages of time,
Unlike life – relentless in its reminders of breath and bone
that house the ghosts of loved ones I mourn.