– In Memory of a Wound –
I feel the contrast of how much of me is given
than what has been returned by you.
At the end of our pleasant times
you begin to grow distant,
and it is me left behind with ears ringing
from the intensity of your affections
gone so suddenly silent.
It isn’t simply cold,
but ungracious to leave me
hanging in this moment,
repeating again those last words said,
searching again for time spent together
to fill the emptiness within me.
With memories of a given wound,
I regain some sense of self permission;
I retain the power of my self determination,
even if it may be at the expense
of my remaining companionships.