Past Promises

I woke shivering from my dreams,

with the moon dusting the window with silver beams.

It was the slow deep hour before sunrise, where dreams hold sway in sleep.

The night was hushed.

Shadows fell away tattered and frayed,

like smoky saffron against the

indigo, amethyst sky.

Gray and damp, the day wore on,

and nothing of its passing gave hope.

From the west, clouds began to roil,

stirred to movement by the winds

that bore on their back the coming rain;

a steady drizzle and mist clouding

the whole land in roiling gray.

Morning arrived in a haze of mist

and light rain crowded together

in a leaden sky. Dark clouds hid the sun,

turning the dawn light hazy and vague,

foreshadowing a gloomy day.

Like this wind that shapes the clouds,

the past years shaped me in ways

I did not begin to understand—until now.

Now, I feel caught between who I am and who I was.

Yet, I don’t feel like I am either one or the other,

and twilight’s dreams revel in past promises

and haunting refrains.

Head cocked upward as if searching

for guidance from the clouded sky, I pray.

I was content to keep her as one might keep

a memory one could call up and admire,

but never really possess.

She was like the mist absorbing light,

bathing me with radiant tears.

I did love her once.  I love her still—I suppose,

but it is not the same as it was.

I know I have lost her.

I no longer mourn that loss.

I care for her.

I think of her when I think of the past.

She was a part of that, and I would

be foolish if I tried to pretend it was otherwise.

I lead her by the hand to the infinity

that lies in wait at the heart of me.

The promises we made will haunt me to the end.

I surrendered to her my heart and my soul.

She is the reason the night enslaves my heart,

and why I weave my dreams amongst the stars,

filling the void of unlived years

with those promises, only spoken.

To hope is to risk

To love is to risk pain.