Ophelia's Wayward Muse: The Reawakening

Sentimental Retirement

"Sentimental Retirement"
.... intrigue, abandoned.

I haven't been able to think, really.
Since the day I met you,
I haven't been able to
Give myself to inspiration.

I am a creator of beauty
Reluctantly chaste and lacking in passion
Since I told myself
My heart is a place that
Can have no room for you. 

Yet, remarkably unconscious,
I wake up in the hours of early dawn;
Roused from a sleep not yet entered
By your presence, by
The sound of your alarm clock
The nauseous Mr. Coffee
Miles and miles away
From the sleepy Dreamland I inhabit.

I reach out to embrace you,
An enveloping of red-orange leaves
And crisp apple cider moonlit nights;
Either something poignantly
Reminiscent of home,
Or subtly
Foreshadowing it.

I am trying my best
To keep my distance,
To not remember the longing I felt
Knowing you believed that
Every time the wind beat against your window,
It was a message
From my heart
To yours.

If you listen carefully enough
To the early autumn evenings,
You can hear the rhythmic pattern
Of my breathing;
The cold night, and illuminating sparkle
Of uncertain stars.

You are the tenderness I was promised;
I do not know how
Such a thing became
A legacy.

I really should want
To close my eyes
And go back to sleep.
Some things are simply not
Meant to be, and

I do not wish
To write love poems
Anymore.