SEPTEMBER (2004)

 

SEPTEMBER

Currently, rolling my eyes—
dangerously, cautiously—
chasing shadows of truth,
finding no trace, no fleeting spark.
All of this dulls the ache,
yet sharpens the shatter in my heart. I strive to re-center us,
to ground our trembling souls
on a fragile, unsteady earth,
haunted by the weight
of apprehension’s quiet scars.
The clocks, relentless at this hour,
whisper of time slipping through,
stealing the dawn’s tender glow. Though lost, sinking deeper still,
I search for you in the dark—
panic swelling, a tide unchecked,
my pulse a runaway drum.
Above it all, unwavering,
the truth stands cold and clear:
I cannot make you love yourself,
nor mend the mirror you refuse to face.