The Journal - Poem by Lora Colon
I found an old book in the attic,
It had neither author nor title;
I sat there staring at it awhile,
Just letting my mind go idle
Dare I open this intriguing book
That beckons to me today?
Curiosity got the better of me
And the first page was on display
I read the words before me,
And I began to understand,
I was reading a poem written by
A desperate, heart-broken man
The message unfolded before me,
A woman had betrayed his love;
Following are the words he wrote
To the world, and to God above:
'She walked into the cold night air,
The moon dancing on her cloak;
My tears distorted her angelic shape
Into a formless cloud of smoke;
This woman walking away from me,
Without backward glance, nor pause,
Almost ridiculing my madness -
Of which she was the cause!
Let me wake up, I begged the Lord,
From this dreadful reverie;
I am not deserving of such a fate,
This cannot be reality!
But nothing changed, I was still alone
As I sank to my knees in despair;
Lord, be merciful to this fool
Who wasted a love so rare
Precious love squandered on a woman
Who could never fathom the notion
Of a man offering a shroud of love,
Rendering to her all my devotion
I cannot live with her memory,
Darkness will not overtake the light;
Nor will suffering invade lonely hours...
I will drink the hemlock tonight! '
These were the last words in the journal,
Restraining tears, I closed the book;
I felt a chilling presence in that attic -
I left quickly, without a backward look
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