In not saying

(a blues sonnet)


Sweep the minor chords from off my brain.
Just keep that tinge of blue from off my brain,
Let pseudo-promises bleach that bitter stain.

Pretend you’ve reinforced my sad delusion.
Cling to lack of “goodbye” as proof – delusion.
Sense the prickly irony of that illusion.

Breathless, profoundly saddened by your dance.
I watch the meaning skirt, politeness dance.
Pull you in to tell, given memory’s chance.

Seal away the ache, postpone the grief.
Dress my smiles in black, prolong the grief.
Mourn the passing of my misplaced relief.

Convince myself that I am not alone.
Repeat. Until the words become my own.