I write because I have to

Tepid

You stretched my light and etched my life,
searing my sight, leaving me dim
with only a trace of a ghost of a glow of sorrow and a hopeless tomorrow within.
Warped and lukewarm,
tepid, no longer intrepid.
Looking now in your eyes like pools, I'm drowning
and every second I stay afloat treading
I'm dreading
and freezing. There's no more heat, just fear
and I'd rather admit defeat than fight a war
that's been lost so many times before.
My warmth that you stole may burn
but I'd rather be sullen and cold
than left bereft at room temperature because of your theft.
Now in my eyes there's more sunset than sunrise
less water, less deep, more shallow,
more steep are these mountains I've built to hide behind
but your footsteps echo and your imprints last
and since you extinguished my light, lightspeed isn't as fast.
I look up at the sky, shrouded in clouds
and I'm far from proud that I allowed myself to get lost in the crowd of your nonsense...
by doubting my conscience.
And I vow to this promise -
That I'll never give my light again.
I'll only blend my light with someone twice as bright,
and share my heat with someone warmer
and one day stop shivering in the dark in this corner.

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Poem Edited: Saturday, August 20, 2011

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