Tracy R. Veak
FROM YOUR SOLITARY MOON
Asleep: The twinkle at night you take for stars
Are really tears from the holes in heaven
Made when I doubted you, me, us – the universe.
What made me do that to my woman, my ‘sunlight’?
The only one in life that looked to me and saw?
In so doing, the one that let me “just be”
And saw in my failure, how she could do it herself.
A Dream: Well, tonight I realized I was simply feeling
the sadness, the jealousy of being your once solitary
moon (Who used to romantically be the only
nightlight to guide you on your way of “being”).
Resting inconsolably behind clouds of blackness,
My tears fell – and fell from my own actions.
But what substance in moonlight but a dream within a dream?
An Awakening: I want you to know that although
It is hard to reconcile the loss of being
Your single, heavenly beacon of light, the only visible one
Reconcile I must, because despite the stars that now surround us,
Despite the Lunacy manifest in my tears, the night’s rain falling,
I can now better see through the delusion of who I am:
A Necromancer enviously dreaming of being your moon
A Reckoning: Because moonspell reincarnates enemies of sunlight.
Now is the time of vampires – the stealers of souls.
But even vampires still dream the dream of sweet sunlight.
Wanting that light, we suck driest those we love most.
We, The undead, must stop, stop this feast of death
Or, you who are simply wanting to “just be” instead become
“Just one of us” – a sucker of souls, the true incubus
A Trick: In my crypt, I hypnotized you into thinking it a garden,
The sweet decay you smelled only the scent of flowers – Lilies.
And here I live with my potions – they give me to keep me going –
Effexor, wellbutrim, and other exotic genus of garlic.
Yes. I fooled you into thinking me alive, a day creature.
But my sweet smell reeks of the death of many, not just my own
And I can never wash clean, to walk in day.
A Lie: “the difference between PTSD and sanity is hope.”
And you believed me, believed your light could give me hope.
You must see hope is not for me to have – for it is an emotion of the daytime.
Please see my feeling of hope is only the gnawing for what once was.
You creatures of the sun, you have the last thing Pandora’ Box gave,
But here in night’s blackness, there is no hope for sunlight, for flowers.
Only a vampire’s delusion decays in hopes place. Smell it? Flee!
A Wish: and finally,
©Copyright October 2004 by Tracy R. Veak
Author’s Note: This poem is about losing my spouse after years of her trying… and me failing… to let her ‘just be’ herself, living with someone who has PTSD – me. I hope she kept all those poems I wrote her, because it is over and I’ve lost all but this one