It’s been a year, a mood that <br />never leaves is hid between <br />the moments when I think of <br />you with clarity and those <br />where fear abrades a faultless <br />view of purity august <br /> <br />Did you ever dare adjust a <br />measure of this malady? No peace <br />in conscience known has dwelt <br />with such a trenchant loneliness; <br />I’d vet an answer candidly if <br />you despaired the same as me <br /> <br />I live alone in emptiness and <br />fear it for my sanity – I hear <br />your voice deceiving what I know <br />is not, admitting to an anxious <br />need too deep entrenched to quell, <br />a heritage of Hell replete <br /> <br />There is no joy in silent trees even <br />though they gainfully appease <br />my angst in noble quietude; it is <br />the wash beyond benign serenity <br />I need, the memories that bathe <br />in want of you prolonged <br />© 23 January 2010, I. D. Carswell<br /><br />Ivan Donn Carswell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memories-430/
