BLACK SHIP OF MEMORIES

Free me I beg,

free me from the macabre of a ritual

that compels me to worship

the idol of our unfulfilled love.

Free me, I beg,

free me from the bondage

that entombs me in mystical chains;

free me from the daily march to the water’s edge

to wait for the black ship that bears your memory

to sail into the shallows of my every thought.

Free me, I beg,

free me from the daily dialogue

that debates the normalcy of this ceremonial acknowledgment

that you are dead

I am alive

living a life-like death

or what ever you want to label this misery of existence.

Free me, I beg,

free me from this apocalyptic fixation

of an image of rings being exchanged

vows of forever being pledged

and all that goes hand in hand

with expectations of an eternal love.

Free me from this cascade of feelings

that were first consummated that night

you stood sentry on a barren hill.

Free me from the warmth of innocence

and youthful, narrow, naïve love

that first kissed me, then assured me

that nothing will ever keep us a part.

Free me from the haunting memory

of loving you even before knowing you,

free me from your image

waving to me as I lifted my helicopter into the sky

to fight yet another battle.

Free me from your image

as you waited for me to climb down from the cockpit

so we could sneak off somewhere

and dance in the flames of exotic passion

until called upon, once again.

to go off and kill in the name of a greater good.

Free me, I beg, free me from this endless cycle of remembrance

that dominates all deliberation

that condemns all contemplation.

Free me from the pain

free me from the torment

free me from the agony

free me from the torture

free me from your domination of my every emotion!

Free me from the relentless pounding

by the hammer of guilt and self-consumption

knowing that I am alive and alone

and can’t seem to deal with the fact

that I love you now

as I loved you the day

we stood in the shadow of malovelence

and bowed our heads in front of the liberated Wailing Wall.

Is it okay

to love you the way I do,

to feel the way I do,

to day after day make my pilgrimage

to the altar of your memory

and prostrate myself in penance

because I did not protect you as I promised I would?

Is it okay

to live and cherish the emotional residue

that I hold like a baby blanket?

It is okay

to dwell in the dialectic

of what could have been

or what should have been?

So here I am

with nothing to do but scream out to your memory

as the black ship sails by,

here I am

wanting to swim out to the ship

because I need a reality more dimensional

that just a few fading framed pictures sitting on my desk.

Here I am

wondering what next to do,

I live in a memory

too precious to forget

yet too painful to remember.

Where can I station your memory

where it will be close enough

to echo in the inner chambers of my heart

yet far away

from the conscious mind

so as not to hurt?