At First

At first,
The heart feels as if it is imploding,
As if love had goaded you into an imagined place,
Through the looking glass,
Like wonderland,
For surely that is the fantastic reality of love in bloom,
Yet what remains,
When the wonderland gives way to wasteland,
Blossom gives way to decay,
The once championed longing,
Now more like an unseemly repression,
Clearly the space was more than the distance between us,
Hidden though it may have been,
Malicious or not,
Realities clear,
Where’s the medicine,
The sauce as putrid escape.
At first,
Like a heroin addict,
Craving just one more fix,
The days seem to go on ad infinium,
The once healthy and affirming love,
Becomes a toxic narcotic,
That threatens the very ability to breath,
Living more like dying,
As the body and mind combine dramatically,
Where every single sensation,
Is a painful remembrance of something you can no longer hold,
Save for the memories, which themselves,
Are more like bullet wounds where once were kisses,
Sleepless nights,
Torrid thoughts,
Impossible or so it seems.
At first,
As time passes,
The once impressive love,
Becomes a lonely recollection,
The sign that the convalesce of the spirit,
Is near complete,
The time then nigh,
To rise above your own feelings,
Reclaim what was yours all along,
And begin anew to live.
At first,
Everything seems made up,
Like every one is a cutout of a cutout,
As by nature one compares the past with the present,
Hoping to create a future,
Though impossible as you hold fast to the past,
You must let go,
You must allow yourself the opulence,
Of anew,
Feeling human,
Having feelings,
Finding emotions,
That will again carry you through the day,
Enriching your life,
As only love can,
There is no remedy for love,
But love.


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