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Poetry by Rachel A. Gold
Alone

Alone

Drew Hurley

I am alone. The emptiness of my heart devours my soul with the bestial ravages of a triumphant mammoth. I am defeated. Darkness curtains the way. Am I doomed to futility? I search, yet not knowing for what. There must be some meaning. Yet, where?

Cascading rivers of sunlight pave the morning with newness and life. Blindly, I stumble through the meadows of frolicking autumn flowers destroying beauty where ever I place my foot. The rhythm of my scythe-like gate maims the tender limbs of grace. I stoop, and kiss a now crushed flower, dismembered by my own clumsy greed, and I cry. Beauty abounds, and with the fading crimson sunset is wantonly raped for an ephemeral moment of ecstasy. Then death. Only a fleeting memory can recall the moment of rapture, then all is lost. I am denied.

Could I kiss the sun, yet I would feel empty. Heartache calls for release, but is lost in the morass of meaningless symbols and the cadence of a fear stricken ennui. All things fail me, and emotions die. I cannot love. Hate is not within me; I have only tears. Throbbing pain mounts; salt pours down sullen cheeks and blurred eyes glimpse grandiose visions of the sun, but lethargy remains.

I want to go down to the sea again, and live, and laugh, and love. But I cannot. The sea is not the same. Now, it is as lonely as I. I have no refuge from myself. I suffer. The foamy brine beckons. The beauteous green enchantress calls to me with her white waved arms and offers a caress, and begs me place my head in her warm bosom and forever forsake the tempest of the race. I long to sleep and know no more hurt, and so I draw myself into the refuge of the sea. Agony and transport fill by being. The rampant roar of white and green; the cold, wet numbness claims my bones, and I protest not -- but rest. Peace.

Spurning lovers like a wanton snow nymph, convulsions rack my sanctified lair. Quaking like an Armageddon, in a frenzied somersault of flashes, I lay cast up upon the shore. Denied. Forsaken in life. Forsaken in death.

The wandering begins anew, and life has no more meaning than before. Am I a hollow man condemned to endless death? I am alone, and that is far more painful than any death. I cannot escape. This prison of blindness and fear has only one key -- love -- and I cannot find it. It is lost, and so am I.




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Tuesday, 04-May-2010 14:47:41 EDT