sunday morning poetry 

Patience

Is a virtue I do not possess.

I wait here, in shadows, the curtain conceals

And I ask it to open, to let me begin

My speech is prepared, my bow perfected

But the spotlight is broken

I chase after it, weak, I’ve been running enough

I listen to words from those that I know

Are not gifted as I, not refined as I

And I wait through it all.

I wait for my moment that never will come

I wait for the time that I can become

That person who shines in a moment in time

But for naught is it all

I can feel my heart harden as I listen to prattle

And chatter that makes me lose my mind

“I’m so good at this!” They say “and so good at that!”

But they’ll never know

That if I had my chance

I’d out shine them all.

Humility

Is not a virtue I possesses.

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that piece of childhood

I was overcome, a few days ago, to look suddenly for an old locket I had when I was little, and wore every single day of my childhood.

I can not seem to place it.

I haven’t looked *every where* for it yet, but it haunts me throughout my day when I’m not at home, and I think through all my memories of where I could have possibly hid it.

For I did hide it. It isn’t something I wear with much pride anymore, like I did as a child. A locket is, unfortunately, one of those things one cannot wear in the twenty-first century without having some noisy prick asking who’s picture you keep inside. That is the most annoying and extremely rude thing I could ever think to ask someone. For anyone with a brain knows that lockets are special, secretive and, always, romantic in nature. You don’t go around asking all your friends who their crushes are (at least, I certainly hope young people don’t do that to each other nowadays!) and you certainly don’t ask to see who’s in their locket!

This is the part where you’re certainly thinking, “who is in C.W.’s locket? I simply must know!” Well, sorry to disappoint, but even now I will not say. I’m older and wiser, and that means it’s more important than ever to keep the identity of my locket-lover secret.

I will say this. He is no longer with us. He died quite a long time ago; so long ago in fact that I never actually met him. I never got to say his name with my lips, or have him turn upon hearing it. But that is alright, because I have always been an ardent believer in true love and soulmates, and sometimes one’s soulmate defies even the laws of time.

I am also, however, not one to dwell in impossibilities. I realize that loving someone who is gone is most always painful and hopeless. I try to remain in the present, but I will admit there are times when I feel so lonely I can’t help but be drawn into the past, wishing beyond all reason that I could speak with the dead.

This is all sounding terribly Gothic, isn’t it? I fear I am spilling more of my soul than I intended.

My point is this. Remember the people you loved through your lifetime. You know (I know you do) that there is one person you cannot shake hold of; who constantly reminds you of who you are supposed to be, who knows your short comings, failings, darkest dreams and desires, your greatest hopes and wishes, your strengths and passions…

And that person may not be real, or you may have never met them before, or they may be cold in their grave. But don’t let anyone tell you they are not important. Only you get to decide who is important in your life, who is worth your time, and who is worth giving your love to.

I am going to go home tonight and look for that locket of mine. I am going to tear apart my room if I have to, to find it. And I think I may start wearing it again, on a long chain, that sinks below the collar of my shirt, away from prying eyes. It’ll sit on that chain right next to my heart, where my love resides, free to give to whomever I wish.

Rest in peace, my darling.

Es ist was es ist,

c.w. north