This Is Not A Sad Song

                                       "This Is Not A Sad Song"



                                                 vacant;
                                       an empty house now,
                             white-gray light through bare windows,
                   cold-blue shadows crouched in corners of my room,
         only familiar sound left behind was the faint echo of my heartbeat.

                   Unlike so many poets penning depths of despair,
                   I cannot tell the tale that my heart was broken.
                   Nay, the vibrant essence of myself was not destroyed;
                   never bruised; nor torn; not even lost.

                   Instead, there it was at my feet on chilly ground
                   where you left it. Unattended. Dusty.
                   Stunned, I picked it up, looked at it, and marveled
                   at the memory; a once intimate suggestion of my soul.

                   I didn't ask why my heart had been abandoned,
                   or neglected, or simply forgotten. No lamenting or trilling.
                   No sounds of sorrow escaped or exclaimed.
                   No pitiful pants of air gave permission to grieve.

                   Finally, when I reclaimed my breath, my pulse, my life,
                   I was surprised with only the sound of sighing smiles.



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