Come away with me, I said.
Your shoulders slumped,
you slowly turned your head,
as if witness to something you wished
not to see.
Come away, anywhere together will be
home,
no more days spent alone,
to wonder where on earth you are,
how far.
Days that drag on as I wonder
what it all meant,
the universe’s intent
in leading me to you after so long.
I always thought of you,
I confess,
remembered your gentle, warm caress.
In this world of connected souls,
unaware of connections, thus
out of control.
A sense that something was not quite right,
always at my door.
A sense that life had a higher purpose
I am meant for.
Slapped by reality to remain in the present,
marching mundanely to muster at ennui,
evermore.
To slip back into the somnolent rhythm and hum
of daily works.
Languishing in the fog that hides
the fertile ground.
It sneaks in silently in the predawn
purple darkness.
Its heaviness lingering until the sun
comes around.
The days continue to pass in slow motion.
The fog obscures as it floats above
the grass.
It skirls up ivy-covered walls,
condenses on my window’s glass.
I look out but see only motion.
The clarity of vision, in my mind’s eye,
fades.
I wonder how much time is left to
know you,
know you and your tender ways.
I want to scream, What should I do?
But you have things yourself to do.
And I have things to do as well,
in this living hell.
And wonder how much time is left,
until death’s release from this life
bereft.

M. Zane McClellan

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