"Movement"

"Movement" 

Amid the stars,
you reach out for me. 

Painstakingly,
I recall past instances
and even times more recent
when I perceived your efforts decent
enough to believe they were sincere.
Crystal clear one's vision
whilst the other darts between
one gleam after the last
dashed glimmer of hope
destined to revert to particles of smoke.
Dreams so dry and deliberately driven
marred by the shelf life
of wishes previewed and unforgiven.
Your eyes are drawn to the shine
but can't manage to muster
what comes of those clusters
once they begin to lose their luster. 

Now your murmurs find me. 

Within the moon's reflection,
you call out to me. 

Tone and inflection
once inviting...
... enticing even.
Sufficient more so now
that I remain derelict to your requests.
Your quest for recovery
a rather inconvenient discovery
of one's penchant for incompetence.
Compliments stalled and angrily sprawled
under the increasing disbelief
that our interactions could be this brief
even when you display grief.
No creaking desire to salve
and I won't open the valve
and I can't always be there
and trust me: life isn't fair. 

Well, 

neither is love for that matter. 

Now you pull away from me. 

Under the brilliance of the sun
you feign your contempt for me. 

The burn.
The churn.
The malaise in every phrase.
So pretentious. Clearly fazed.
Grazed your fault as you vault
over fence lines and chain links
we've forged at the brink
of our nonsensical pattern of behavior.
Time the only savior remaining
for one so inept at retaining
an inkling of realization. 

Our farce is your fixation. 

Yet I ask if you think of me. 

Lit wick and slow burning fire.
It tires but it will not die.
I don't even ask why anymore.
This lonesome chore of recant.
Said that we can't
but we do
and who are we to judge in the first place?
Told truths about love in that first taste. 

Distasteful displacement.
Kept pace with each other's transgressions;
ready and anxious to dish out lessons
that we still have yet to learn.
That foolish yearning for a destination.
No room for transformation
when one seeks out transportation
instead of the will to stand still. 

We fit the bill of overkill. 

I guess you're mad and confused now. 

Me too. Nothing new. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz