On Days Like This - Feb 4 2010 Poem by Hal Caufield

On days like this,
Camelot seems so far away.
My heart weighs heavy
Inside my chest,
And my lungs do not
Really care to breath.
You are here, but not for me.

On days like this,
Words do not seem to matter.
They do not even seem to exist.
And though the morning sun shines
Through my window, all is dark
With no hope clouds will ever break.
You smile, but not for me.

On days like this,
I despair.
I doubt if you can ever care,
Or ever love a fool like me.
I doubt the very signs
That brought me to you.
You are beauty, but not for me.

On days like this,
I want to die.
And in death find such quiet
In a solemn tomb as
Ends the pain I cause you
And have cause myself.
You are, but not for me.

And on days like this,
These solemn cursed blessed days,
I want to fight.
With whatever strength melancholy
Has left me.
And make but one thing
Clear to you -

Please, please wait for me.
You are my trajectory.