The Faltering

Poem By Stacy Lynn Mar

Like tomorrow, like an old clock
You have become semi-reliable.
A large ‘maybe’ in my sea of nobodies.
You are the island of no return
That I return to, again and again.

We sit beside the shore
We look onward at tomorrow
With only half a heart and no mind,
How is it we lose all common sense,
our recollection and remembrance?

The seconds we steal,
They are abrasive to my heart,
The beginning wrinkles
In the corners of my eyes,
You remind me I’m getting old.

We are in a way, still unfinished,
Or maybe the future holds some grand,
Unforeseen finale,
A extravagant fairytale ending to you and me,
Or perhaps only a beginning.

Because me, I am always so sure,
I am the chapter in the back of the book
That you never have to read,
The forward the never makes sense,
I am undetermined reasoning.

And you, you silly boy,
You are a gullible mess of always and never was,
A reckoning to be faltered,
A letter written but the words forgotten,
The subconscious fear of an afterglow.

For now, the facts remain, I lost you two years ago
And yesterday, I lost you again.
The mechanisms of your heart,
I feel they are at fault,
Perhaps the battery rusted, the spring broke.

Comments about The Faltering

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of MAR

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

I lay there in bed at night,
Scared of the shadows lying veiled
In vacant corners, terrified that fate
Would find for me some neurotic illness,

The Dawning Of Summers Breeze

I sit atop a plush chair of Egyptian cotton
On the veranda, my legs thrown haphazardly
Atop the smooth, plastic table.
A vision for sore eyes, I am, the mediocrity of poetic.

The Uber-Single Women

You see them in bars,
Pretty and unattractive alike,
Caught up in what it means
To be “woman” as they spit

Our Autumn

It is the time of year
When October steals the daylight.
The stars shine a little brighter,
The air more crisp than usual,

Small Boxes Closing

Yesterday is a small box closing
Upon each one of my bones, those warriors.
Primitive, I am a shadow of the woman ancestor
Who sanctioned for me parts of herself.