The Song

It happens that way sometimes, you have what you call your song. It is your heart and the words you know because you’ve felt them for so long. And then you part; that same song now an aching remembrance. Too long you have hurt, and the song lends your tears their substance.

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” you shout, but too late your tears released. Then for weeks you don’t hear it, and the ache in your heart finally ceases. No longer loves sweet song, but a how do I get over you? Radio stations seem to play just the right songs for just the right moods.

Then, then you turn on your radio and it’s your song,

A tear falls; then another and another, yes, he is really gone.

All the day late in the night, all the week and with it the past. And you remember. Little things like the way he smiles, the way he laughs

The daze is gone and you can feel again, feel your heart bleed,

The hurt you thought gone only buried till it was in need.

With it a loneliness spreading far worse than before you met,

His spirit still with you and you realize he hasn’t released your heart yet.

And the last two lines of a poem I wrote come true,

For this heartache I wish I knew what to do,

But as of now, I’ll keep on loving you

(The Fire that feeds the soul)

© Cynthia Clark