Angry Lamentations (01/2010)

I remember when you picked the lavender from my hair
so tenderly--an embrace
twirling it in the fingers light as a feather--light as the world
or as me in a white dress twirling under the stars
with dew on the grass
on that perfect night
so long ago that it isn't real

you stand before me in my mind's eye
never as perfect as you could have been, then
on that night that never happened
when our arms locked around one another
and a new beginning was born

Here you are though, now
in this moment
unveiled, standing in your weakness
sullied real, you are naked before me
I can see you
Without the trees, the stars, the smiles
without the lies

fainthearted coward
you killed the night, our dream
not with a deft blow but instead
with the withering, writhing pain of perpetual silence


--E.