I sit here in this unfamiliar land rimmed with green hills;
breezes caress my skin as I stare, unfocused,
at the golden light that bathes the meadow in its nimbus.
Small wingêd buzzers halo ‘round my head,
and other than their humming I hear nothing
save the hidden mourning doves and the beating
of my stubborn heart.
I cannot gaze upon such beauty without pain,
imagining the drops of sweat that bead my face
are really blood oozing its way clandestine way
from out my veins to show the world my wounds.
Even when removed from that dark cell into the light
my sorrow shrouds me.
Transplantation doesn’t shed the tattered rags;
no matter where you wake, whatever lives within
lies on the pillow.
Why cannot I forget that which was,
while never in plain-spoken words, obliquely promised?
I see your smile – the one I thought inviting but now know
How can you magick here, so far from all familiar?
Why do you sit, all dark descending, taking with you daylight,
leaving only shadows, smoke and spectres?
© 2012 RC deWinter
Wherever you go, there you are.