Sun – Page 4 – Hearts Still Care

This is not what I choose to feel,
When all I did was hold you dear;
I’m now hurt with no hope to heal
And instead of love, I taste fear.

The days of happiness die fast,
The tangled moments have no respite,
What will, eventually, last
Is gathered pain, after each fight.

I find that I must cringe and rue
The pain of life, the loss of love,
Who must I relegate blame to:
A devil below, a god above?

But I walked with open eyes,
Thinking this is what should be done
To hold joy before it wilts and dies,
To gather flowers under the sun.

If the skies greyed and storms began,
What matter who merits the blame;
All that counts is I was my own man,
Who held to each rule of this game.

This year came unto me like a Wraith;
Bearing away my hope in surreal faith;
It unfolded its stygian wings
And spewed forth such ghastly things:
Cancers of different kinds,
Affecting the body, the heart, the mind,
Gods disappeared with flute and tusk,
The sun merely gazed from the gathering dusk.
Fight against the dying light, Thomas said;
But Plath was also a poet to be read.
I tried to run to the sun, catch his light,
His failure proved to be the worst of the blight,
He could do naught but be what he is
And change not a jot of how he lives.
So as the day died, he left me to night
I stopped screaming. I surrendered the fight.
Doing this brought me some clarity:
The utter darkness of wing made me see,
This wraith of Time is my constant friend,
Who doesn’t give hope, who doesn’t pretend,
Who promises not even pain to rend
Some new beginning from an old end.