Sideshow Poem by Leaking Pen

You are not a distraction
You are not a sideshow,
Or a last minute slide -an afterthought-
Inserted; to meet a deadline
For a haphazard presentation
Just to finish a requirement
Where my heart is not the leading voice.

Then what is it with the hush?
The silence, the non-response
Like stillness in a graveyard
Although red roses bloom between the tombstones
Their lawn-nature envies the greenest-
The loveliest in the neighbourhood
Where my sealed coffin lies below.

Loving words, kindness flow from once desired eyes
Sweet gestures as sweet as honey dew
Then like a farewell sunset, your light disappeared
No trail of your warmth that lit my day
Or caused spring seedling to germinate
Hope from the new light
Fades back beneath the ground.

I feel the after-effects of your silence
I am the crumble left from an earthquake
I yearn to be the aftershocks…. Just
To know you are still part of my life.
Now I shelter deeper in death itself
Yielding to despair, where
My soul is carved to pieces, kept in its cage!

Yes the morning has broken
Yes the night has spoken
Yes my heart laments
The Sun behind the darkest clouds
So close, yet so far,
Out of my reach
And beyond my control..

To sail the seven seas
Where ships cross to reach the lighthouse
Dim night-lights are no substitute to the lasting light
That frames the seas at daytime in the skies
Or a full week's reflection from the hesitant moon
Its distance too far from the Sun's halo
No lasting life comes from a second best.

Rainbow seven harmonious colours
Like a rare circle of love my poem tries to emulate,
Seven perfect verses set to seven perfect stanzas
How can I find my heaven at the end of my seven?
When my seven is lost without its heaven!
An engine running on empty needs a soul
Or it will rust, pulled apart in a junkyard.

Epilogue: Hope

'The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? '

Gibran's The Prophet

May 16,2013
Copyright Leaking Pen 2013
Rev Nov 18 2014