I Held My Tears - Poetic Prose

On rising, sun glimmers inside a new spring morning.  Bird song filters through sheer curtains casting calico patterns on the wall while a delicate rattling of wooden wind chimes hold clicks within soft whispers.

Excitement gushes through veins like rushing river water; my momentary hope that the music of your voice has me returning from a long and lonesome dream.

A dream that finds you in every summer cloud that whisks across a blue sky, and feels your warmth upon my sun-touched cheeks at the close of each day.  And when  rain washes pine pollen along concrete gutters like lemon sugar on iced cupcakes, I melt within your memory knowing I belong there; just beside your smile.

Dreams carry an incredible ache, bend my soul into pieces where inner sorrow festers so ripe, it will bleed its bitter like black tar squelching energy to the bare bones of raw pain.

It was the dream that understood why we never said goodbye.

And I struggle with sanity to come full circle, planting new beginnings from roots of survival mode; the benchmark of my cure.

I live as you would have intended - as anyone would expect - finding new love and savoring tenderness in another smile that spills its quiet time to share my moments and understand my grief.

As the rush of excitement recedes, cools to the reality of awake, I remember - remember the feel of your skin on mine, and know it can never again meld with my own - and I hold my tears.  I do not wish to share this gift.


Copyright © Pamela A. Lamppa
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