The Sad Owl : Another Year, A New Year

She lightly whispered into my ear, “I promise… I’ll never leave. Just close your eyes, shhhhhhhhhh it’s okay I’m not going anywhere. You deserve a good night’s sleep”.

It makes me often regret ever sleeping at all. It’s the way I can still feel her breath on the lobe of my ear, her lips on the side of my cheek, her words on my heart as she said, “I love you”.

What I would give for another minute. Another second. Another split of that, in a moment of time that will never be anymore. It was the way that human warmth becomes cold, the way soft and supple becomes hard and inanimate. It is the way that tears of struggle and of joy, become without reason, goals retracted, person rescinded, love and hate twisted to the point they break, ultimately into nothing. 

It is the way you spend every waking hour with no more wonder. Each day passing where two-thirds become a sixth. Alone is without a with. And I am all out. Weeks into months and months into another year waiting to disappear. I am a sad owl in the night, waiting to take flight. 

© The Sad Owl

The New Age

It was a long time ago, long before I could know

Of obsolescence

Ancestry; old books with stories that now collect dust

Of romance and history, once new with gleeful shine turned to rust

Quieted, berries of passion red, saddened blue

They will say the golden times had every hue 

Knitted and depicted on inwrought tapestries for you

To remember

Old letters as reminders, the ink has settled where it once ran 

As souls do when they have found their peace long after their laughter

Old photographs of places and people that no longer stand

Put in cardboard boxes in the attic to never be seen after 

Along with lovingly knitted sweaters that now belong to nobody 

With no one left to answer back to an impromptu 

P.S

I love you

The windows we run to have an e-mail, no more rocks or Juliette 

Or night time runaways who whisper sweetly in secret

The amazons we explore for thrills give us knitted sweaters

With no love… and no place to really go in gloomy weather

No meaning, n’or past or future it can hardly be a present

When we pull the plug, there will be nothing that remains

Of our lives or anything we’ve touched

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