Tuesday, November 23, 2010

I was nothing while I was waiting.

You told me you would come, 
so while I was waiting, summer turned to autumn;
and then I watched the leaves of my destiny fall;
I watched the winds of time and turmoil, sweep them away,
I was nothing while I was waiting. 


You told me you would come,
so while I was waiting, I wrote an ode to love,
and then I watched myself burn it.
I watched my lungs fill up with smoke and my lips maroon by caffeine,
I was nothing while I was waiting.  


You told me you would come,
so while I was waiting, a bourgeois boy curtsied,
and since there was no time to fall in love. We didn't.
I watched as we made love, with and without our bodies,
I was nothing while I was waiting.


You told me you would come,
so while I was waiting, I met a hundred insignificant people;
and then I watched them plunder my dreams, smother my voice, 
I watched them stab my spirit and then my remnants drain into the gutters,
I was nothing while I was waiting.


You told me you would come, 
but the rain has come instead, like an endless murmur it soaks my brain,
and slowly it covers my body and lulls me into a dreamless sleep,
I watch as my name is crossed off lists, and glance fleetingly at the coy seraph,
I don't remember who I'm waiting for, 
Am I waiting?
Am I asleep?
Am I the seraph? 

2 comments:

  1. My favourite bohemian teacher, what a lovely and deep poem! Were you very sad when you wrote this? It made me doleful (in a productive,cathartic way).
    I loved this "...and since there was no time to fall in love. We didn't./I watched as we made love, with and without our bodies..."
    and this: "...but the rain has come instead, like an endless murmur it soaks my brain..."
    The bit about "...plunder my dreams, smother my voice...stab my spirit and then my remnants drain into the gutters..." made me flinch.
    But I didn't get the refrain. Did you mean the person had no identity while she was waiting?

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  2. Hey Cyniqueen, sorry for the late reply. I've had such a messy week. Well, my poetry really reflects my neurosis. I become another person entirely when I'm writing poems. I should keep that to a mnimum.
    Yes you're right the person has spent all her life waiting and she lost all sense of self! How are you? I'll head your way asap! x

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