" …. turn whereso'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more ….

…. I know, where'er I go,

That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.

…. there's a tree, of many, one,

A single field which I have looked upon,

Both of them speak of something that is gone:

The pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?"

( William Wordsworth. 1770-1850 )

 

Why can't I forget the darkest drape — that cloth with no shine no scarf no grace lay flat upon my souless face — it doesn't move even when my breath escapes — all I want is to throw it off — "But don't you love the cover and hiding place I bring?" It asks with its slimmy smirk — "Aren't you safe, and don't I bring you sleep?"…

Heavy, Heavy, oh so heavy — I want air and light, air and light — cruely, I remember it, have lovely memories of it — the memories seem a form of torture now — "Come on now, just go back to sleep. There are no memories when you sleep" …

"Isn't there something you can take?" Other voices speak — "You're just lazy, all you do is sleep" — Inside, under this darkest drape, my soul screams "You don't get it. You don't understand" — it doesn't help that my mind, my heart cannot find words to help you understand …

For you see I'm tired and I don't care — I've tried everything to find the light and the air — I've tossed and turned, and tried to shake my arms and legs to throw the cover off of me…

I've called and called to that little girl in me — she is so tiny now, so far away, and she cannot hear me —- I've given up trying, and she's tired of trying, and trying and trying to get through to me…

For you see I can't forget the darkest drape — it's become a kind of skin attached to me — as I've grown older it's grown thicker and thicker, darker and darker…

I've given up finding something that will make me clean — something that will bring out that beautiful little sun-shiney girl that lives way down deep inside of me….

For you see there is no dream left in me — there used to be a glorious light in me, and again and again I say there used to be a glorious light in me — it's swallowed up now — it's long gone now — it's in the darkness now — it's under the covers now — I'm an old, dark-souled woman now — still with a tiny bit of wisdom left to know that my soul knows that the darkness always comes back and back darker and always wins …

The darkness takes the dearest prize, my soul — do you wonder if I'll rest in peace? — I can't wonder anymore — You see along with the glory, the dream, the air, the light, and the sun-shiney little girl, it took the wonder, and it took my life.

 

 

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