I am writing to tell you
That I am sorry for the absence of my presence
This year from your sight.
Life, for all it is worth,
Has found me a soul
Not black like before, nor made of onyx stone.
Though life is but a masquerade of pain
A hopeless waltz in the face of aversion
Joy, if it is truly a word,
Love, if it be more than just feigned,
Worth, if any single thing can have such a place,
Has landed softly upon my hearth.
Gentle caresses and soft lips,
Arms wrapped around for comfort
Lackadaisical nights of wonderings
Serve to envelope that which once was
Nothing more than a dark nebula of hope.
I expect you not to show this year
For being jilted as I have you is terrible
But I could not help such a thing.
Yet I do, for certain I guarantee, ask forgiveness.
Never did I mean to so shut you out of my life.
Death, as always, circles through my mind on lonesome nights
Though not as once before.
Merely now, as you have seen, it is meanderings of thoughts
To what you truly are beneath the cloak.
Is there such a thing, or are you just,
Like this love I feel,
Merely a figment of a childish imagination?
A wind blew in through a window,
Blowing my letter off the table
Towards the boned feet of a dark stranger.
A smile, though not seen so much as perceived,
Spread across the emotionless, calcareous face.
Reaching out his alabaster hand,
My estranged friend laid a tiny package on the table
Beside the retrieved parchment of my letter.
May your joy continue
And euphoria consume all that is bitter to come.
Cry not for want of loss
Recall only that which brings the heart painful, wholesome remembrance
For life is too short to weep for acerbic notions
And too long to forget all which has happened. "
With that, my dearly departed friend
Walked out the door of my life,
-His feet clicking subtly the wooden floors-
But promised, beyond all comprehension
To come back in a year
As always he does
A true friend of his word.
The letter lay unfinished,
Gracing the gray garbage can with its presence.
What need is there, to bring about the memory
Of that which is already known?
Or to try and erase that which will always be felt?
AN: My apologies for the lines in the poem, for some reason the site would not allow my spacing to work without them. Hope you enjoyed the poem, though. And thanks for reading.