Hallucination #2

Last night I heard you call my name.
You really weren't there, of course;
you were so long ago and far away
I doubt you remember me or need to.
But your cry's distinct, faint but clear.
It begs and pleads, a tone so sad
I want to reply and comfort you, to hear
your startled voice confess you hear me answer.
But even in my fantasy I know it isn't you.

That voice comes from deep inside my skull,
that emptiness between daydream and memory.
I hear it call often, as I fall asleep or slowly wake,
when I travel, or when lonely, deep in thought.
I sometimes fancy it is you, that you reach
somehow across the space and time between us;
that you think of me, regretting your indifference.
But I should know better. Besides,
you know how to reach me. I'm in the book.

© Henry Cordova

Despedida

Long before you dismissed me as your lover
I knew I couldn't give you all you needed,
but it wasn't til you despised me as a friend
that I realized you wanted nothing I possessed.

That's a bitter lesson to quickly learn
from someone you admire, respect--and love.
And yes, I do still love you. I guess I always will.
I just don't trust you. I don't think I ever can.

You once told me we can't choose
who we do or don't fall in love with;
but that we always get to pick our friends.
That's
the humiliation I cannot afford to forget.

I made no judgements, demands, or expectations.
All I asked was to be recognized as human,
there are so few of us still left in this our long and lonesome exile;
so few of us still here in this our desolation.

© Henry Cordova