Poem: "The Emptiness of Infinite Years"
Nov. 11th, 2015 03:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
This poem came out of the November 3, 2015 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from
thnidu,
janetmiles,
ellenmillion, and
gingicat. It also fills the "growing old together" square in my 5-18-15 card for the
origfic_bingo fest, and the "failing to plan ahead" square in my 11-3-15 card for the Disaster Bingo fest. Based on an audience poll, this poem was sponsored by the general fund.
WARNING: This poem contains motifs that many readers may find upsetting. Highlight to read more detailed warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes major character death, loss of a loving relationship. grief, loneliness, immortality, depression, and other emotional mayhem. Please consider your tastes and headspace before deciding whether this is something you want to read.
"The Emptiness of Infinite Years"
My wife's deathbed lament
was an ode to lost love, all the time
we would never have to spend together.
When the infinity herb was announced,
were delighted by the prospect of
increased longevity, the chance
to grow old together and share
eternity with each other.
Then the herb worked
for me but not for her,
and it was only after
batteries of tests that
the doctors murmured
worthless apologies and
explained that it could only
prolong health, not restore it.
Her final days were tainted
by the bitter realization that
we had failed to plan ahead
for the possibility of separation.
We clung together while we could,
but in the end she passed on to
a different eternity than the one
to which I had sentenced myself.
So I limped into the emptiness of infinity
with dance partner forever absent
from my side, my elbow cold
in the soft evening breeze.
A cure for cancer, sure,
they found that too ...
four years too late.
I feel altogether abandoned
by the present, haunted by the past,
aching for the times to come that
we once anticipated sharing.
I want our future back.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
WARNING: This poem contains motifs that many readers may find upsetting. Highlight to read more detailed warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes major character death, loss of a loving relationship. grief, loneliness, immortality, depression, and other emotional mayhem. Please consider your tastes and headspace before deciding whether this is something you want to read.
"The Emptiness of Infinite Years"
My wife's deathbed lament
was an ode to lost love, all the time
we would never have to spend together.
When the infinity herb was announced,
were delighted by the prospect of
increased longevity, the chance
to grow old together and share
eternity with each other.
Then the herb worked
for me but not for her,
and it was only after
batteries of tests that
the doctors murmured
worthless apologies and
explained that it could only
prolong health, not restore it.
Her final days were tainted
by the bitter realization that
we had failed to plan ahead
for the possibility of separation.
We clung together while we could,
but in the end she passed on to
a different eternity than the one
to which I had sentenced myself.
So I limped into the emptiness of infinity
with dance partner forever absent
from my side, my elbow cold
in the soft evening breeze.
A cure for cancer, sure,
they found that too ...
four years too late.
I feel altogether abandoned
by the present, haunted by the past,
aching for the times to come that
we once anticipated sharing.
I want our future back.
Yeah.
Date: 2015-11-11 10:21 pm (UTC)Re: Yeah.
Date: 2015-11-11 11:15 pm (UTC)I didn't really set out to write something that dark, but the prompts stuck together and ... yeah. Horror flick.
Re: Yeah.
Date: 2015-11-11 11:22 pm (UTC)It's powerful, and poignant. But it's NOT to be taken lightly.
Re: Yeah.
Date: 2015-11-11 11:24 pm (UTC)See, THIS is why we need content notes, so folks know what they're getting into. I have consistently found that it raises the level of what my readers are willing and able to engage, and lowers the frequency of me accidentally hitting people with a brick made of print.
Re: Yeah.
Date: 2015-11-11 11:26 pm (UTC)But NOT having that... that's beyond Purgatory. Putting things in perspective is important, too.
Re: Yeah.
Date: 2015-11-11 11:31 pm (UTC)Sooth. And sometimes, you just want a reflection of the fact that it hurts like fuck, not reassurances.
>> But NOT having that... that's beyond Purgatory. Putting things in perspective is important, too. <<
I think it depends on the person. Some people have an intense need for human contact, others much less so. But most humans are social creatures who feel bereft when they don't have close relationships.
(no subject)
Date: 2015-11-12 12:01 am (UTC)In a Starbucks cup.
Yes...
Date: 2015-11-12 12:21 am (UTC)I quite agree.
>> In a Starbucks cup. <<
LOL
(no subject)
Date: 2015-11-12 06:54 pm (UTC)It's detestable, but at least it doesn't know any better. (I'll put down the hammer and go no further with the metaphor.)
Yes...
Date: 2015-11-12 09:32 pm (UTC)