A lover.
I know not where to seek for another.
Still in my sleep you come to me but no, I know it can not be.
Not you truly, but my love still adorned in your glory.
Not you.
Not until the shackle of your image in my mind is left behind will I see clearly.
Not until I can rise with the sun in my absence of you not thinking of you not feeling of you.
Given time.
Less and less I look.
I surrender to loss.
Let go of pain.
|
Time heals all wounds... Nice poem! "It permits you to see, more clearly than our perishing mortal eye can see, vistas beyond the horizons of this life, to travel backwards and forwards in time, to enter other planes of existence, even (as the Indians say) to know God." R. Gordon Wasson
|