POETRY

CRIS GUNTHER

 

From atop my palace of dreams, I continue to believe that you're still in love with me.
That it's only a matter of time, before you see the error of your ways and grow tired of the games people play.
I hold on to the memories of our yesterdays and question whether you'll ever come back to me. 
"One day soon", I pray with trepidation and angst.
My possessive heart wants to believe that your possessive mind is still clinging to the possibility of reconciliation.
How can it not be when the well of passion's intimacy hasn't fallen into the abyss of lost hope?
But, as my grip squeezes tighter, your words and actions strike harder warning, "this is over, we can't go on like this." 
All of the years of building towers and loving wilder have given way to trembling voices and dying screams. 
And the broken record keeps repeating again and again in my frenzied mind like the slow dripping of time on my abandoned heart 
in the torture chambers of my soul.
So, I cry out to God and beg to be relieved of this endless cycle of shame.
I want to return to the sky and transform my sorrows into glittering showers of rain,
but my finger won't let me pull the trigger.
So, I crash down with every goodbye and smash every clock that I can't rewind to bury once and for all the void of your missing love.
Because my optimism's slowly wearing down,
my fear's quickly gaining new ground,
and my breath's growing weary of my loss' shadow...
So, I crawl and I climb, and I search and I find-
but my illusions still refuse to escape me...