I suffer the company of these aged emotions
decrepit familiar fiends who were once close friends
I invite them back for retellings of the same stories
that become increasingly harder to endure
at the Table of Wishes that will never come true.
I fight the logic of asking them to leave
against the illusion of my better judgment
which they drain from me daily
fully knowing the time will inevitably come
when their folly will trump my sensibility.
My heart feels ransacked by their sharp words
leaving the remnants to rattle like dice in the hands of a gambler
tiny fissures form in my willingness to stay silent
opening my thoughts to counter-productive actions
and through these holes my sorrow seeps through.
There is no end to the stories they tell
even though the dénouement has yet to be written
existing as a cliff hanger taken to an author’s grave
while still I hold on to a fading hope
preserved and prepared as an enticement for their next visit.
They vanish with a grumble of their final piercing words
without so much as a cursory glance in my direction
and no evident concern for my growing disaffection
because they know with certainty
that I will call upon their company once again.
By Myxl Dove
© Browel Publishing