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Eternity

by yanzi

when was it that I first knew you?

Eternity — at the age of two

I think I first saw you.

gazing through my tear-soaked blindfold

that my mitten-bound hands could not remove,

I lost myself in the warm colours of your embrace

as terror descended on a body no longer mine.

you remain my first memory. but then,

how could I understand you?

 

seven. on dark basement steps, you found me again.

though you took me by surprise.

soothing and seducing

were your intoxicating whispers —

yet silent were your eyes.

I took in your ethereal liquor —

I breathed your whispers in.

“You don’t have to be here and suffer;

you just have to imagine.”

so imagine I did. I buried my head into your embrace

and pressed my eyes against my thighs —

no longer on a cobwebbed staircase, I felt myself rise.

I had grown wings.

I felt myself soar and soar.

but then your whispers ceased, and the spell was broken —

I was Icarus no more.

 

at eight I took to heart my mother’s words:

“Don’t sleep under the blanket, or you’ll run out of air.”

while I ruminated escape. did I dare? did I dare?

I buried my head under my blanket,

and waited for your whispers to arrive.

but they never did —

even when I pressed the blanket tight.

I lay there breathing, and felt my air grow warm.

you had promised. you had promised.

why wouldn’t you come?

 

sometimes I’d catch you in the news in Singapore;

my family lived on the seventh but

when I was ten I’d go to the thirteenth floor

and imagine the lives of everyone below —

and I’d see your form beckon.

how easy was it to take the leap!

how easy was it for me to go!

at thirteen I started hearing you call and call —

singing a siren song only I could hear

that made me ponder my own insignificance.

that made me feel downright weird —

if my memories had been planted,

I wanted none of it.

I wanted you, Eternity.

I wanted out of my imprisoned skin.

 

at nineteen, who else could fill my growing empty

where two dozen lovers had failed?

at night I would go to bed to your roaring whispers —

kept up by your siren wail.

you were always waiting home for me,

after every intimate party,

after every proud travail,

to suck the meaning out of them,

until I valued nothing else but you.

you make a fine lover Eternity —

indeed you really do.

but sometimes I’m not sure Eternity

if I’d really want to be kept forever by you.

I must admit your wine is sweetly intoxicating!

sometimes I want to drink my fill —

only to find myself awake in hospitals

where they give me different pills —

till my mind is numbed to silence

till my mind is quietly still.

but the silence is still an absence

that I can still poignantly feel.

some days I’m not so sure Eternity —
sometimes I still dream of eloping with you.

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1 comment

Metal Myu Myu 8/14/2014 - 12:46 am

Wow.. “The important thing [about a poem] . . . is the pure registration of the moment and mood.” — But me? I get carried away — So, well done. :3

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