The form of caress that gently follows,
My inner demons that feels so hollow.
I cannot address what speaks to me,
What has been and will always be,
A sight to remember.
It strokes in a way that I do not know,
Like seasons it changes to and fro.
“How do you feel like now” I ask,
“What has happened in the past?”
I do not know.
It slyly turns into subtle madness,
Changing again to rushed sadness.
Even when I begin to see,
Hope that is momentary,
It feels dim.
The heat builds up and does not go,
There is a side that I cannot show.
For it needs to be built up in me,
And in time I will reveal,
It’s clockwork.
And then June makes its way,
Extending summer to another day.
“Winter will come soon though”
“Autumn isn’t really far you know”
I pledge.
With made up memories in my mind,
That speak to me all the time.
I feel sorrow in what I shouldn’t have done,
And look back at how far I had come,
I feel regret.
With open windows on my wall,
In the heated summer I call.
To all those who have been close to me,
Who see the life the way I see,
With remorse.
And in my book I’ll soon write down,
A symbolic passage of what I’m bound.
And I’m going to leave it there and then,
For weeks to come and weeks to spend,
With delight.
Until I find a reason to rise,
That I no longer need despise.
That I no longer have to run,
That I have fears to overcome,
For good.
And winter flashes back through those days,
And brings back good in many ways.
“But June has gone and May will stay”
“Where will you go now” I say,
I’m stuck.
And with those emotions in my mind,
I will have to forgive myself this time.
That what I have done cannot be undone,
And will have to accept what I have become,
With forgiveness.
And the clockwork slowly begins to reveal,
A quiet, gentle side of me.
That was before and holds on again,
And tells me of what I have been,
Careful.
The seasons cycle on and on,
“With no potential harm? Come on!”
I will truly begin to see,
That I’m not a part of what others can’t be,
A lone survivor.
And now every now and then,
I speak up to the existence within,
That is there acceptance in my mind?
That will everything be fine?
I ponder.
And now weeks and hours alone,
Cannot bring back that tale I know.
And with that I bring to adjust,
An old tale that I must,
See be brought out of the heavens doors,
And left in the open floor,
Of time, need and disgust,
And framed onto the warm walls,
Of forgiveness.
(c) Mitul
Magu
16
July 2016
