First Farewell

[carose59]

First Farewell

The world was becoming, slowly, 
smaller
darker
sadder
harder.

 Just getting up in the morning was a chore,
 and sleeping half the day
           or three-quarters
seemed unavoidable.

First it was sleeping in bed
 (but sometimes it was literally impossible to sit up) 
then it was sleeping in a chair, 
tipped back, 
the TV on
a cat in her lap.

The same things were happening
The same lights were shining

But seeing them was harder
And caring became impossible.

Fatigue lurked in the shadows, 
the foreplay of Death.

It was getting time to go.
  

 I brought home lights
                 bells
              whistles; 
I brought home flowers and cow-covered socks, I brought home
     fairy tales with happy endings
and true stories with ambiguous ones.


I brought home kisses and hugs and words of love
I brought home
all the hope I could find
all the hope I could carry.

I brought home twinkling lights, 
flashing lights, 
lights that danced
lights with music. 
I brought home all the music I could think of, 
and when that failed, I sang
 (which could not be called music.
  Put it in the Love column). 
I would have tap-danced, if I hadn't been sure
   I'd fall on my face.
I'd've fallen on my face too,
                         if that would have helped.

I whispered and caressed, 
I joked and comforted, 
and sometimes I screamed, 
sometimes I turned into barbed wire, sometimes
I just went insane
dissolved in a pool of salt water.

I was tired.

Carrying the princess through the dark,
                              treacherous forest is tiring. 
But I wouldn't put her down.

She was mine.
She was mine, and I had to keep her safe,
                                          she was mine.

Death can take her away, but Death can never own her.

Mine.  Now and forever--

mine.

Goodnight, baby.  Sweet dreams.

Comments

[gweneiriol.livejournal.com]

*sniff*

*hugs you*

[carose59.livejournal.com]

Thanks.

Hey, how are you doing?

[gweneiriol.livejournal.com]

I'm doing better. :D

I keep meaning to post something about what's been going on, but then I think of it all, and get tired/sad/mad/fedup and don't. *sigh* Anywho, I'm doing better.

Also, I will get back to beta'ing the Epic(tm) for you soon. promise! :D And, we definately need to hang out again, hopefully, I'll be able to treat us next weekend! *dances*

Hope you're doing well and your mom's ok! *hugs*

[melodyclark.livejournal.com]

Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

Favorite stanza, virtually flawless:

I brought home twinkling lights,
flashing lights,
lights that danced
lights with music.
I brought home all the music I could think of,
and when that failed, I sang
(which could not be called music.
Put it in the Love column).

[carose59.livejournal.com]

Thank you, thank you. This poem is very special to me. I wrote it just after my girlfriend died--within a week or so, and it was cathartic, getting the feelings out. But more than that, it showed me that I would still be able to write, even with her gone. (I know how selfish it sounds, but that was my biggest concern, that I'd end up alone, with writer's block.)

And it means a lot to me that these poems aren't mere self-indulgence.

[melodyclark.livejournal.com]

I love much of your work and a couple are so outstanding I've copied them for my own re-reading. You have a wonderful sense for both the "right" word and how to use it in cadence to have an "alinguistic effect on your reader (if that makes any sense). Very honestly, you're one of the best poets I've read in quite some time.

[carose59.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much, I can't tell you how much that means to me. (I really am in love with the sound of my own words. *g*) I love writing poetry, but I've found that I only think that way when I'm in a state of heightened emotions, so (fortunately? unfortunately?), there isn't that much of it.

The essays are easier, but for some reason, nothing is easier than fiction.

[melodyclark.livejournal.com]

For me, essays are easiest, fiction comes next, but nothing is harder than poetry. You have much less space to make your point and, because it's shorter, you have to pack more power in the punch.

[carose59.livejournal.com]

You have much less space to make your point and, because it's shorter, you have to pack more power in the punch.

That is very true; with poetry, you simply cannot ramble. *g* I ramble in my (fan) fiction, and blame the meanderings and detours on the characters' thoughts. And if I'm not careful, I ramble in my essays, and lose my train of thought entirely. *g*