Atop a Mountain

How have you been

Atop the Mountain,

Beating through winters

And through springs?

/

I have been well,

But you without me –

Without your heart,

Without a dream?…

/

I have been nothing,

You must know it:

A shadow of myself,

A ghost;

/

The pain that took your place
In my chest

Reminds me every day

That I’m no longer whole;

/

I’m sorry but

I couldn’t take you

To walk with me where I

Have had to walk;

/

You were too big,

Too wild, too dazzling,

To step down

To my present world;

/

I left you

On the highest summit,

In the place that’s your home

And my home,

/

And with an empty chest

Descended

To live a life

That’s not my own;

/

But I can’t bear it

Any longer;

Without a heart,

How can one be?

/

Won’t you return to me

And save me

From the smallness

Of my thoughts and feelings?

/

You know too well

I cannot help you:

You have to come for me

Yourself,

/

With your hands lift me,

Like a mountain,

Rip your chest open

And put me back there;

/

And if you fail,

You will forever

Wander about

The shadow world;

/

But should you make it,

You’ll again be

Somebody

Of a Heart deserving

Dorian Gray/The Map

How heavy you’ve become,

My eyelids!

How small and pale you look,

My lips!

/

How many branches

Have the wrinkles

Upon this tree

Of memories!

/

How many deaths

Have closed these eyes and

How many times

This skin has been reborn!

/

How many lives,

In one assembled,

Make up the face

I call my own!

/

I look at it –

How I abhor it:

The greed it stands for,

The impatience!

/

I look at it –

And I rejoice to

See painted on it

Love, forgiveness, grace;

/

One thing is certain –

There’s no room for

Another route

Upon this busy map;

/

The only place

That it can lead to

Is but another

Hellish maze;

/

I’ll rip that map

To puzzle pieces;

And draw a new one

In its place;

/

All I have been

And all I’ve cherished

I must let go of

And replace;

/

Beyond regret,

In a chest of treasures,

I’ll keep

The puzzle of the past;

/

And none will see

The real face of

Dorian Grey

Until he dies

The Heart of the Piece

An incomprehensible puzzle
Before me,
A collection of bright jumbled pieces
With one missing –
The one in the middle –
The stolen heart
Of the now finished story
/
Where have winds carried you,
And abandoned?
Where have fires caught your
Paper wings?
Where have rains washed you of
The colours of life,
To which you were designed as the key?
/
So, like petals, I scatter the pieces
Of the puzzle;
My hands feed them
To the winter winds;
The same fires and rains which once
Burned you and drowned you,
May know all of you, and as for me
/
I believe, I would rather
Have nothing
Than have all but
The heart of the piece