Friday 15 October 2004

leaving

You're sitting over there
wondering what i'm about.
tentatively the question comes out

why are you leaving
what makes you go?

how do i explain this love
words seem to cheapen it
don't do it justice
but you care so much i try

they break my heart
it's beautiful and torn
their country has stamped itself
on my soul.

so i tell you that my soul
has been branded with the
nationality of another race

and so leaving must now happen
because for 16 years
my heart has lived in another
country from my own

but going means away from you.
and as time goes on
the realization hits that you
won't be there when i return

my life has been entwined
with the grace and love
you have offered it.

hours, days, and years
you've given me. for
what in return but a few
odd hours and days

maybe we'll again sit
together and share our lives
the hearts which break for
people we barely know.

maybe that will never again
happen on this earth and
together will mean eternity
i will miss you.
miss your roses and funny gifts

but will rest in the memory
of your constant love
and prayers for my life.

thank you for them.
somedays that's all i need to know
that you are praying for me
and that solidifies all i'm
here for.

2 comments:

Anthrodoc_1 said...

I spent one month Ireland after working/dreaming for 20 years. I can't honestly say I am simply (if there is such a thing) "just American" anymore, if I was "just" ever. Making the right choices for ourselves is not always easy or the most popular, even with ourselves, in the beginning. We all have wells of strength and resilience, some fed with stronger, deeper currents than others. You obviously have a deep strength "stamped" on your heart... Slainte, Eilis

pseudonym said...

Finding the right words, the wrong words might lessen it's value. Bittersweet idea. It is a notion that I think inspires brevity in poets. The less words I use the less chance I have of messing it up. Sometimes I think that my words can't lessen its value. My meager words don't have that kind of power. What it may really come down to is this. We aren't looking for the words.
Arthur Rimbaud said, "The poet is truly the thief of fire."
It's not the words we are looking for. It's the fire.