My attempt for day 21 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge. I like how much more I could write when I begin with index cards!
I confess the motive to return here
was neither vision nor omen nor sign,
but loneliness. The torture of old fears
compelled me to fall back into the time
I saw potential, not shame, in the mirror,
when magic, not consequence, blessed my life
I hoped old weeds couldn’t bind me again;
I walked now with a strut, eyes toward the sky,
and smiles for all; repent crusades fought when
I lost my mind. This time, each word from my
tongue would mend, not condemn. I’d make old friends
anew with cleaner wit and brighter shine.
But summer sizzled off the surface bloom.
My season of growth sprouted only shrubs;
the Fall returned with a downpour of gloom
no shelter tempered, not even the drugs.
The forecast was clear: Each night in my room,
alone, stagnate away, a dead-end scrub.
But she appeared with a familiar flame.
Eyes like the Sea; her hair shined with the Sun;
Her voice a stream so sweet, it even tamed
my desert tongue. I dove into her, un-
afraid of consequence. She felt the same.
Each night, we came together–two as one.
But then she vanished like everyone else;
ambition drove her to another state
and left me here, surviving by myself
among the childhood friends I grew to hate.
Though phone calls preserved the feelings we felt,
they’d wither away once I was replaced.
I sit alone among strangers in pews
a year older, no wiser than before.
To leave would admit defeat, to refuse
would force me to suffer this weekly chore
when I should be chasing another muse.
I just don’t know what to do anymore.
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