With This Loss

With this loss

I’m at a loss

I cannot write

Or sing

Or cry

There is Nothing Left

But a memory

Of something I had hoped would be,



My dreams show me The Tragedy

That in my Living State I cannot see

Or feel

It would be too great a pain

Funny how the psyche works —

Kicks in like it does

Disconnects us from the stuff

We’d never be able to get through

Meanwhile, I type

But do not mistake it for writing

These are the apathetic, colorless words

Of a poet who is no longer a poet

This is the guarded, shaded voice of a person

Who will not touch love again in the same way

Because This State is not worth it

Perhaps you say

“You’ll move through”

Perhaps you are being kind but naive

One Door

Has shut

And you can be sure

That Door (for there was never another like it)

Will not be opened.

With this loss

I am merely a whisper of the person

I was.

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