Akito's Poetry #47

It wasn’t that I didn’t need you.
We played our parts,
they were infused with the dream.
And it wasn’t that I didn’t want you,
cause I did have fun on the whirlwind.

Copping out of momentum.
Ducking out of the human race.
I saved you a song on our old jukebox,
but still, things can never be the same.

I never said you weren’t good to me.
Angels take their share
from the loving kind.
And it wasn't that I hated you,
but that I loved forgotten days
in a harsher way.

The whirlwind span and steadily grew,
our joy gaining speed with each turn.
And then when it seemed that our dream
was real,
was true,
…the heavens dropped.
The wind was still.

Skipping rocks on cement blocks,
sealed our shrines in frozen time.
Forgiveness grows on a southern road.
But I can’t go back. I can’t look back.
I haven’t the courage to be your friend.
I bleed.
And I haven’t much strength to lend.

And it wasn’t your tears
that left me dieing in the dust
of this garden with withered trees.
And it wasn’t your fire
that burned away the sky,
leaving me in the darkness.

It was fate’s game,
and the cowardice that plagues my veins.
It is the memories that pulse and pound
in every minute, in every hour.
It is the throbbing of
what could have been,
what should have been.
It is the cruelty of a voice
that crackles and echoes in my head.
A voice that never was,
that should have been.

No, it wasn’t you.
Just only me…
…and the mourning of a dream
that wasn’t meant to be.

Forgiveness grows on a southern road,
though I head north
where the days slow
and the winter dulls
the echoes of his voice.

But still, please,
should the day come…
…save me a song on our old jukebox.