Travellers and Grave Robbers

I thought it was obvious,

even through my calm, detached demeanor;

that I was handing on

only by my fingernails.

Couldn’t you read

the screams in my eyes?

Surely every time I smiled

you could hear me yell

“Help Me!”.


Trapped in a long gone metaphor;

I’m sorry I didn’t have any more

clues to give to you.

I was stranded on the higher ground.

When you reached out and touched me,

all I felt were sure uncertainties.


My breath caught in my throat,

like a death rattle

and my heart beat

humming bird wing rhythms,

but quickly,

the scintillations subsided

and the screaming started again.


Why do we always come back here?

Why do we suffer each other so?

What is it about this place,

about us,

that drags us so far

into the blast furnace of passion and promise?

Only to quench us

in ice cold temporal reality.

Are we making ourselves stronger?

Or are we just seeing if we’ll shatter?


My eyes will never tell their secret.

My lips will never form the words

that would put your heart in retrograde,

or menace the requited feelings that we share.

Here, in our fairy tale existence,

I am no charming courtier

and you are no imprisoned princess.

We are travellers and grave robbers,

digging up precious pieces of time

from the ruins of our pasts

and trying to fit them,


like a child’s drawing,

into the fine latticework of the future.


I see you stop what you are doing

and turn your head half in my direction

and I believe,


for one second,

that you heard me.


HG – 2016

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