I Don't Know Who I Am

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

He doesn't hear it. No one really heard it.

. . .

Goodbye to days running amiss in mine

heart. Fiery flirts amongst dangerous loans

of shortened spirit plagued by plangent moans,

bewitched into bending, inceptive time.

Sagging against currents bound dull, and fine

engravings marked eternal into stone

the days when no one soul stood as alone

as that hunted by fire and wrapped by vine.

 

No more can I look those days in the face,

fragmented glass scattered across the floor

forming threads into the broken, sweet vase.

O shattered heart and day and night and torn

taunts into my ruined spirit, severed grace

grants no succor, never here, nevermore.

. . .