Sondra’s Poetry

 


The Private Lake


When the day has passed
and all that remains
is the calm which sleep should bring,
I think of you.
I live that day again and again
searching for the moment I missed,
the moment I could have decided
we should do something together.
Searching for the moment
I could have saved you
and been the hero you always were to me.
I remember the day
they took you from the lake,
and even though I wasn’t there,
lying here, in the dark,
I feel the water pressing in
on every side.
My skin feels hot,
sweat beading on my brow.
I see eyes staring skyward
from the depths of a midnight blue lake.
Sometimes I think they are my eyes,
but no, they are your eyes
reaching into my conscience.
Eyes filled with youth
and glimmers of dreams,
questioning “why”
as they sink further and further away.
Desperate for the same answers
I reach into the water,
but the answers I seek always disappear,
rippling away on the surface
of the cold private lake,
outward toward forever,
leaving me to wonder why,
“Why wasn’t it me?”


Copyright ©2000 by Sondra L. Schlossberg. All rights reserved.

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