Worlds Away

what the nomad brought home

Good morning!

Through a thick veil of hesitation,

Woven from the perpetual clash between passion and apathy,

Hope and resign,

Love and loss,

Reason and chaos,

Balance and imbalance,

I peer past into a morning—

Idyllic, warm, brilliant—

That defiantly forces its way into your bedroom

Where you lie,

A captive of your own unending night.

 

Fighting with every ounce of your fractured being,

You wage your tired war against the natural rhythm of life,

To conquer time,

To spit in the face of day…

Pretending if you have to,

Just for a few more seconds,

That roll into minutes,

That hurl into hours—

Ever since you were a child—

And no one ever wondered why.

 

Before your closed eyes, the stony mask of sleep,

I cry, wondering what kinds of delinquent chemicals

Are there swimming through your head,

And stealing everything that used to make you smile.

I’ve learned to stop thinking I could fight them

And bring you back.

You need to do that for yourself.

 

What are you thinking?

What are you dreaming?

Do you remember who you really are?

Do you know how much we miss you,

How much more determinately the nostalgia pounds us down

When you’re right there in our presence?

Child, sibling, hero, lover, stranger…

 

With tired shrugs and empty smiles,

So many times we’ve waited for you to make your entrance,

To join us

With your long-lost grin

And to breathe the most incredible words we hope to hear you say—

“Good morning.”

 

I pull open the curtains to let the light flood in,

But nothing I do can dissolve the shadowy heirloom

Destroying your home

If you refuse to throw it away.

 

You do all the sleeping that I cannot

When, ghostlike, I wander restless,

Desperately tearing through photo albums

For the chance to touch your face

And to see my own smile.

And I remember everything you cannot

Since you saw yourself so long ago,

Reached out from the stills,

Asked me for help,

And faded away again.

 

Well, here’s the sun once more.

And I will be slipping into your room,

Stubborn as ever,

Hoping that I haven’t got the wrong time of day,

And that, hand in hand, we can step back out into the world

Where everyone waits, arms outstretched,

To welcome you back with the sincerest of smiles.

I’ve come to say “good morning,”

But that pillow, your crutch;

Your bed, its own universe;

And your room, the cell that boxes it in—

I am nothing but the mute come to sing to the deaf.

 

 

“Something’s gone, you withdraw, and I’m not strong like before I was deep inside of you.  I can go nowhere, I burn candles and stare at a ghost deep inside of you.  And some great need in me starts to bleed.  I’ve lost myself; there’s nothing left.  It’s all gone — deep inside of you.”   Third Eye Blind –“Deep Inside of You”

October 8, 2007 Posted by | Poetry | , , , | 2 Comments