The Closing Light

Bookshop towers just left behind,
Oppressively billions
Imprinted on my cowering hope.

Coffee escape,
Breath and percolating sorrow,
Now as I write
To ask where is the secret
In the overpowering plethora
Of different truths?

Love, like prose and poetry,
Always the same but different
And elusive.

And what is this act?
These touchpad lumens
Appearing like dreams
Pressed hard from sleep
That never conjures you
Out from all the possibilities?

Endless potential versions of truth
Between pages we did not write.

I wanted some prose or poetry
To change me instantaneously,
There and then, bursting from the covers,
A spell in transfiguration.

I want it all to be over,
And it’s heading that way,
Where I no longer miss you
Or look for you in signs
Or manifestations
Of melancholic objects,
Or flying out from the pages of books,
For it never happens
And never will,
Always just the faintest echoes of the past,
On occasions bubbling to the surface
Before bursting.

I have stopped looking for you
For only your fleeting shadow
Cares to be found.

And it is only ever
The same loss
Over and over again.
Too much to repeat,
Too little left to lose.

Something altered inside
When you came.

The endless yearning stopped.

And when you left
It did not restart.

Until now,
But this is not yearning,
It is the closing light,
The dawning of dusk
Upon all that was
And all that will always be.

Detached and devoid,
It waterfalls upon me
In the drenching streams
Of transcendence.

Shivered, soaked, delivered,
I no longer see
The previous truths
Which you provoked.
Only the light which circumvents us
Is alive within us now.

Copyright Kosmogonic 2018

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