1001 Arabian Nightmares, Chapter Two, plus Postscript

Here, your life, already tiny, shrinks.
Mine's growing smaller, too. I dreamt
Of freeing both of us, but you, it seems,
Would rather further shrink, and, in the
End, become a raisin version of yourself,
Almost the woman you had been, but
Portable and better suited for your
Fate. You'll be consumed, and I, I hope,
Will fight to grow, but, if I do, I'll have
To leave you. Later, when we meet
Again (assuming that we ever do),
I'll see the desiccated thing, the
Voodoo image of the woman I had
Hoped that I could rescue, and could
Love, but, at that point, I'll struggle
To be civil, as what's left of my old
Ardor gags, and it begins to shrink.


Postscript

Yes, I've been unfair to her, ugly, even,
Small and mean, and most of what
I wrote supported structure, not
Veracity. I crafted works of pointless
Pique, and why? Because I miss her
So, and know she isn't missing me,
And doesn't read my poems, anyway.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 63 times
Written on 2015-04-02 at 17:45

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