The Repentant Soul Speaks

 The Repentant Soul Speaks

(A lone voice whispers)

I still miss your sweet voice.

(For deep down.
Past all my innermost self-doubts.
I just miss it so much.)

I can still remember the last time I heard it.

It was June, the thirty-first.
(When we were in touch.)

Its dulcet tones spoke of such delicious, luscious things to be explored in the dark. At night.

To be brave enough to expose and tear one's soul apart.

A once much-held-up secret theory by Descartes.

(For such was its seductive power, like Francisco de Goya's, "The Nude Maja.
A true work of art.)

Is that why life is sometimes so painful.
(As I sit lonely. Thinking of you at my table.)

Thinking constantly of my one and only angel.

I guess I should be grateful.

That I feel remorseful.

For I once heard a strange story about Micheal the Archangel.

Stating quite eloquently.

To have once lived.
Loved and lost.

Is never shameful.

But to have never known love

Now that could be fatal.

(C)
Copyright John Duffy

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