The Loss

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling above;
And contemplate its superiority over the four gray walls.
But again my thoughts come back to my lost love.
I try not to surrender, but it calls and calls and calls.

A black day in my life, grim and dark;
The day you did not return to our place.
A dark red circle on the calendar, I drew a mark;
The day in my heart was born an empty space.

I turn to the gray wall with the closed wooden door;
And take a deep breath, remembering the scent of your hair.
But I turn away knowing, for you, it will open no more;
For my blindness and my arrogance has sent you out there.

In my mind's eye, I'm still awed by your infectious smile.
Your eyes so alive and bright with the force of life.
Every little move whispers your grace and your style.
The radiance that shown, when I made you my wife.

That year we were so happy and filled with great joy;
And the love we shared grew, despite stumbles and falls.
Our big plan for a family, one each a girl and a boy;
Was more than could be held within these four gray walls.

But the years passed by and the magic grew wane;
And I ignored your attempts to re-kindle the fire.
So you took a new lover, to ease some of your pain;
And he satisfied your unfulfilled passions of desire.

Now I close my eyes against the four walls of gray;
And struggle to clear the lump from my throat.
Once again I return to that cold infamous day;
When first I saw on your pillow, a hand-written note.

The words now etched forever in my mind;
Each syllable cutting as deep as a knife.
'Forgive me, there is no easy way to say this and be kind;
But ours is the past and I can no longer be in your life.'

'I love you no less and this believe to be true;
For I would not have you think such dissension.
That I found another, who loves me more deeply than you;
I just waited too long for your return of affection.'

So again I open my eyes to the ceiling above;
And contemplate its dominion over the four gray walls.
But my thoughts renew the experience of my lost love.
I cry to myself, 'No surrender!', but the loss calls and calls and calls.


© Fall 1991