Speaking In Tongues - Poem by Thomas Lyons
You are lost in that gossamer gray nowhere
We call the unknowable.
And this is all I can do to feebly
Still feel you near.
Isn’t it nice how I can avoid the pills
And the strange designs of manufactured relief
If I tell myself the lost ones are not lost
But just camouflaged
By a gossamer gray haze which science
Can’t document? Which even common sense
And so I defame your memory for the sake
Of my own pain,
Which I cloak in a shadow familiar enough
To keep you shamefully maintained.
Fearful old flame, I want you still.
Lover, let your apparition help me feel
The warmth of another presence
Which would be a heaven here in this
Hell where I can’t tell the difference
Between my superstition and the actuality
Of factual memory.
Lover, I want you still
Even while your grave is as real
As the wars we waged on those who were
Simply in the way of our wishes,
But I wish for your intimacy now,
Even if it means I must share
An empty house with a made up shade
I can’t really learn to love.
Because I’m hurting too much
To relearn to love the living.
I need you so badly that it doesn’t matter
If your flesh and blood is intact.
I need you so badly that I would willingly
Speak in tongues if it meant I could get you back.
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