::squints at brain::

[ysobel]

I wrote a poem?

Not the white collar sestina nonsense, just

poem

of me




The ache of loss consumes me
like the fire of a collapsing star
burning and yet a growing void

I have lost nothing
(it is the resonance within me
the instrument of my soul, echoing
the pain of a fictional character's imagined loss)
and I have lost everything

Suffering
(say the Buddhists)
is attachment to that which is impermanent
Life is loss, inevitable
Everything decays, withers, changes
and I, oh, I am too attached
like Velcro barbs hooking deep within
and holding me against the fire of

losing

hopes, dreams, plans,
desires, needs, wants,
mobility, independence,
usefulness,
self,
all burns in the bonfire
lost to time

and I hold the embers close
blistering my soul
because as long as I ache
I am human

at least
I think I am
or have I lost that too?

I do not know which way to go,
there are no signposts in the void
not sense of up and down, nor light
all is depression, all is bleak
and all I can feel
is pain

it is a familiar
and unwelcome
guest
that will not leave

but pain tells me I have
existed