Wistful

Rainy morning
Overcast gray
My heart is there
On this sorry day.

By the window
On the sill
The bluish faint glow
Of dim Sun lies still.

Unkempt, a hair
Winds near my cheek
Eyes wander
And they dare not peek

At images, memories
Gaunt and dim
The walking dead
Of time within.

Actions, words
A line to recall
Notes not written
Never written at all.

They with no body
No muscle or tissue
Fight with my sleep
And wakeful with issue

I sip at some tea
Rings move right across
As drops of liquid
My eyes have lost

My robe close around me
Cocooned light and warm
From the empty cold center
Beating beneath my arm

Regrets, such a trouble
From days gone by
Like shadows of Summer
They haunt by and by.

The still repast
When time put asunder
Echoes deep within me
Like the clouds with thunder.

I breathe solemnly
Searching for paths
To find my way home again
Away from the Baths

Of hidden agendas
And Harsh retorts
Hateful anguish
And grief of that sort.

This gray morning
Troubles me dearly
As I ponder the sorrowful
Angels who steer me

Along this ancient,
Bounteous shore,
A beach where I'd leave
And return nevermore.

The sea of trouble
Tossed white with foam,
Careens in my mind
The waves, mine alone.

Can I pull down the crest,
Still the trough, smooth the waters
Till calm flows again
Mute the voice like my fathers'

A transgression so severe-
Pull back the words and the deed
Which hurt my love
Cutting too deep to bleed

My tea is gone.
I rise from the glow
Of the window before me
Which contains this show.

I cross the den
To boil and steam
Sighing deeply
As I wonder and scheme

How what so wrong
Can put right,
Casting a darkness
On this pale light.

The words cut deeply
Wounds wide and bare.
I fought at them as
They flew through the air

Hitting their mark
And emitting a shock.
Not as painful could have been
A hurled granite rock

Your eyes, I see them
Escape in the night
And nothing I do
To stop their flight.

The kettle whistles
I steep the sachet
Forgetting for a moment
My search for cachet.

Crossing the carpet
Returning to gaze
Through my window
Now an alabaster haze.

I sip and I breathe
Not wanting to think.
The tea flows within me
Warming my heart as I drink.

I watch the clouds part
And some Sun undeserved
Warms my cheek from above
But the Angels, saints preserved,

Remind me my fate,
So horrid, so dim,
That I catch my face downwards
'Neath my hair wound and slim.

This too will pass-
So, knives beware
This wistful girl
Your blades will not share.