This is an oldey-but-goody poem that I posted way back when the first Eyes That Burn list was created.
Loss
I.
on the rooftops of this city which you are not
night decends on lamplit wings, enfolding me
a comfortable silence broken only by the wind
rattling the rickety windowpanes
a conversation of ghosts and whispers
far below the embrace of dark promises
i sit slowly waking from drunkeness
perhaps then the tears could come, fat with bitterness
and glow with a deeper darkness than this city night
but they do not come, and i will not think
below me loss wanders the cobblestone alleys
hugging the corpse of belonging to its chest
bony, emaciated, yet brutally there
and the tree in the yard imitates the skyscrapers around it
thrusting boldly into the dark sky, declaring here i am
but i, well, i imitate the earthworm, the millipede
the dead and barely living
soon it will stop hurting and soon this hole will close
and loss will climb the stairs, open up the door, and hug me to its chest
and i will be at peace
but now i sit and wait in silence
like a saffron robed monk sitting cross-legged atop a mountain
contemplating the cosmos and the web of souls
the infinite connections of infinite experiences
once i knew it all, i understood everything
but my wisdom is an epiphany of pain and wondering
my answer is confusion, and my question -- a howl
as i turn my desperate eyes to the lights of the big city
the wind flings an empty can to a wall
and i know just how it feels
II.
a match flares, and a trembling hand i dimly recognize
as my own reaches up to light another cigarette
some smoke rises serpentine towards yet another dream
even as the rest runs screaming from me incoherently
and i keep company with ghosts
conversations haunt me, and sights return unannounced
like some terrible angel returned to judge
the living and the dead... and me besides
and i wonder aloud is there judgement for loss?
or is the judgement in not forgetting?
the streets are filled with busy people
between them flirt wisps of memory like the scent of something
i stop in my tracks before a deli and examine an orange
and the weight of the past seems promethean
until i realize these sagging shoulders are mine alone
courage! someone shouts from deep within
patience! counsels another ancestral voice
rise my son, and walk again! comes a whisper of authority
i struggle, i try, but my faith is imperfect
and from a distance, loss sings its dominion
one green leaf from the flower stand floats in a puddle
and while i stare paralyzed, the cabs keep creeping by
the daisy maintains its white discipline
and the roses stand strong in their shading
the wind does not stop whipping the clouds
the engine of commerce does not pause and in short
life continues, refusing to be chained by loss
so i turn, looking for my humanity and finding only ghosts
i am manacled by memory and chained to the wheel of lies
perhaps truth, in its violence, will liberate me
III.
the doors swing shut behind me like silent condemnation
and the smoke greets me with a warm embrace
the cues on the wall stand firm like so many lances
and the balls are like jewels on a sea of grass
once there was laughter and love around this table
furtive glances of admiration and wordless communion
but now there is only the company of silence
of green felt, wood and steel, and brightly colored balls
as i shoot i feel loss looking over my shoulder
and i hear soft chuckling when i miss
the grey light of a city dawn filters in through the shades
while waiters from late night restaurants laugh and joke around me
and a couple of hustlers play a wordless game in the corner
i am a lost pilgrim from a realm far from here
yet this could be home when it must serve
my eyes are unfocused, my lids leaden, and i should be asleep
but i am condemned by my loss and imprisoned by desire
whose origins are shrouded in mystery and memory
if i could walk on time i'd run back to the origin
but i am less than mortal, living forward and mourning the past
it is human to need, but even the angels must feel desire
and in desiring there is always the spectre of loss
even for the nazarene who must love us all
and feel pity and loss looking on our foolish struggles
but i shall take responsibility for my loss
as i took pride in my love and declare after tennyson
'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all
but words and feeling are ever so disjointed
and even in my moment of courage and strength
i am overwhelmed by desire and loss
IV.
the morning is as bright as it is frigid
the sky is as blue as newborn hope and briefly
i am moved to the wonder of the universe
the chill of early winter's early morning
brings a smile to my lips like a new beginning
and i shiver like an arrow in the target
empty now but anticipating a kiss of hope and freedom
oh, to awaken like a valkyrie in a ring of fire
with spear in hand, to steer my winged steed sunward
leaving the ghost of loss earthbound behind me
a cup of coffee cools before me bidding farewell
to the thin wisp of steam rising from its black depths
we drank coffee that day and spoke in riddles
fear and lies and ambition and will and more fear
ah, the words were clear as the morning was bright
and i as muddled as the coffee was black
let it be, let it be -- the words echo around my head
so here i am, drinking a toast of farewell to myself
and across from me, there in the empty chair
loss toasts back, dragging on my cigarette
here's to all the fearsome nights of fearsome splendor
and here's to all the drunken nights of hazy craziness
here's to the words and those looks and little gestures
i have loved and lost and gained in equal measure
all i have left to lose are my regrets
so my friend, my dearest loss, i bid you farewell!
i pull open the shades with trembling fingers
a cup of coffee cools before me while i burn
the morning sun moves higher and i rise with it
carrying love and loss and all that goes with them
as i walk i can feel time walking with me
and behind me, there is the laughter of ghosts
-rsh
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