Choices

You remember waking up to
warm bodies intertwined
every daybreak, every sunrise
a musical loop that serves to remind

You loved the sleep in her eyes and
the taste of morning on her lips
Hours of talking and reminiscing
in between smiles and coffee sips

Coffee in bed 2
She liked hers with cream no sugar
you took yours black and sweet
Those lazy Sunday mornings
in between crumpled sheets

You remember her hand in yours
how it was such a perfect fit
and how holding her in your arms
was as natural as instinct

Now
your sheets are still crumpled
but your coffee tastes bitter
your mornings are chilly
and you know that you miss her

Your bed is empty
it looms larger in your room
as you focus on the ring she left
next to a bottle of her perfume

Reminding you of your choices
and the right you had to make them
Reminding you of your promises
and the right you had to break them

One moment you’re drowning and
the next you’re dying of thirst
All you know is the moment is gone
and it could not be rehearsed

The choice was yours to make
it was the choice you chose to take —
your choice became your burden
your greatest mistake

Some live and some die
in that one moment of regret
The moment moves on
but you will never forget.

 

“We are our choices.”  ~ Jean-Paul Sartre

A ‘not so empty’ Gift..

 

journal

A gift is fragrance out of breath

fled from the abode of the urn

seeking respite of a wayfaring vessel

within whom, it makes its return.

Be not daunted, open the cover,

Draw deeply from spirits fathomless well

Oh, water bearer for the soul of dry parchment,

A river of words erodes the truth a mountain can tell.

Lo, winds of wisdom for the seeking leaf

Softly turn its empty pages

Stir them not, but deliver the stillness

Spoken through the love of inner sages.

Leap not, be gently drawn

Oh, sojourner, not so soon,

Soft, the precipice waits for you to cast

From the abode of your own perfume.

Those who give, journey on

Deep in the heart of others who are given

And when the page seems dark, find the spark

When the flint of the lover strikes the Beloveds frizzen.

~ Skip Maselli
(thank you for this priceless gift)