— a poem of potpourris.
The Penumbra
From the Latin adverb paene, which translates to “almost, nearly”
I see her presence around me
her shadows no doubt, in front of my steps
I know I must’ve gone mad, for there’s
no way she’d be anywhere near
The way the light falls; dispersed evenly
forming her forms, her silhouette
the decimated sun fills the complexion; hers —
my fanatical obsession, my one true love.
I feel her toying with my existence
the way she once did my very emotions.
I fear she’s getting closer, coming to own me
merely to leave me hanging by a thread.
I sense her being, haunting vividly
in the guise of old memories.
I swear it’s her eyes I see and not mine
or has she coalesced with what’s left of me?
I failed to catch my remnants
as I sink further and further,
deep into the riveting web;
my string of daydreams, where we’d always meet.
Nothing more and nothing less.
