Tuesday, January 3, 2012

THE HUNGER

When it’s over,
what remains is the hunger:
a strange nostalgia,
not for what was but
for what I was going to have…
someday.

What to do
when even the price of
happily-ever-after is
tears, black bands of grief, and
the grave?

End love before it ends?

Capture it like a photograph:

Confine it in frames
of fantasy and memory;
loss redeemed in protective coverings
stronger than wood and glass

Place it before me,
never accessible but
always there

perfect

unchanging

forever?


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