THIS INEXPLICABLE NEED
The silence you left
comforts me
more than your voice
ever did, or your touch,
or, for that matter,
your very presence,
my existence one of constantly coiled
apprehension
that I might disappoint you,
anger you,
lose you,
all of which I did,
and more, but
that is not why you are gone;
your heart simply ceased,
quickly, surprisingly.
Your heart ceased
and now you are gone.
I miss you,
without missing you,
the comfort of silence,
the absence of the fear
of angering you,
not enough
to calm my need for you
beside me, this inexplicable need.
LIES/TRUTHS
Told too many people
too many lies, so,
many of those people
no longer believe
a word I say,
most of them unwilling
to listen to any word I say.
I can't blame them,
I suppose. I don't, most
of the time, though those times
I do mind, those times
when I am telling the truth,
it scratches under my skin,
to tell a truth
and be thought a liar
(and yes, I know exactly
how that sounds).
If I haven't re-earned
their trust by now,
I never will, and
why are we wasting words,
true or otherwise,
on each other
when there are thousands of people
who have never lied to them,
and thousands more who do not know
that I had told more lies
than any one person ever should
even if they lived a dozen lifetimes?
WIFE AND CHILD
Died so many times before,
some demises brought on by my own self,
others given to me by the world,
most of them aided by the disease
which blackens my brain, my life
the offspring of its wide spread,
but I don't want to die
anymore, or at the very least,
only once, and sometime in the time
left before me, some far distant time,
but no, not now, not now
that I have something
to live for, something worthy
of survival, no matter the struggle
to achieve that survival.
SILENCE
Your absence is apparent
every time I enter the house,
the comforting presence
of you that once filled the air
before you even entered
the room.
I suppose I'm trying to say
I miss you without saying it,
but where is the harm
in saying it, when I have never
had any issue with voicing
what was in my heart (though
what was in my head
was always harder to shape into words,
this hard contradiction sometimes
stunning me into silence, but
you had grown used to it
across all our years together).
I miss you. I miss you.
Though I would not ask
for you back
if it meant that
all the pain
you left behind
was waiting
to wrap you
in its cruel arms again,
like a violence so silent
only the damage it bestows
can be audibly discerned.
ROPE FOR SOUL
For PW
I would have sold my soul
for a rope that could have anchored
your soul to your body
for a moment longer,
just so your daughter
might have arrived there
in time to say goodbye.
But I don't believe
in such fancies
as the soul,
though I would
if it meant
I could have sold mine
to hold onto yours
for those handful of minutes
as she rushed to the hospital,
the call of the doctor still loud
in her semi-sleeping ear.
Edward Lee's poetry, short
stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in
Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen,
Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Blue Nib and Poetry Wales. His play ‘Wall’
received a rehearsed reading as part of Druid Theatre’s Druid Debuts 2020.
He also makes musical noise under the
names Ayahuasca Collective, Orson Carroll, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale
Blond Boy.
His blog/website can be found at https://edwardmlee.wordpress.com
No comments:
Post a Comment