Whispers

What could have been

is not,

but it is

what could have been.

The thought,

an exercise in

futility

as faces fade

and situations change.

 

Once

out of the grey fog

of life

and its mysterious motive,

there came a long, calling word.

It might have been a name,

and that name might have been mine.

Can’t tell if I’m just insane,

or if it is truly calling,

calling, calling

out my name.

 

“Who is it?”

I ask,

with a tremor in my voice.

“Who is it?”

I ask,

this time a little louder.

“WHO IS IT?”

I’m shouting at the darkness, now,

demanding an answer

from the fog of existence,

and nothing comes.

 

Not at first,

and the once the echoes of my cries

subside into the night,

I feel a hint of cool air

prick my skin

and on that cold wind

I hear the only words

I have ever dreaded,

softly, barely audible;

“We’re still here.”

And my fear is made manifest.

 

All the things

I thought I left behind,

burned my bridges,

burned down all my structures,

nothing left to cast a shadow on my path.

But it seems,

that while I am still breathing,

so too, will my past follow me.

And I must learn to move in the shadows,

while seeking the light,

however it must be.

 

I can’t embrace

the mist that is the past.

I can’t return

and it cannot come in.

We are estranged,

with both of us existing;

two worlds

in one life.

 

It is time

to go and find the light.

No good-bye;

I know you are still there.

What could have been,

what was

and unrequited.

I turn to face what is ahead of me,

find the Sun

and listen not to whispers.

 

HG – 2018

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