The

haunting

remains

.

i

n

.

this

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

somewhere

.

i

n

.

that

–

–

swirling

haze

.

o

f

.
mere

moments

–

–

swept

away,

.

t

w

o

.

shadows

swayed,

–

–

embraced,

.

a

n

d

.

merged

into

.

t

h

e

.

gray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

almost

recall

.

a

.

trace

.

o

f

.

that

elegance

.

a

n

d

.

grace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

almost

perceive

.

t

h

e

.

change,

.

a

n

d

.

the

paling

.

o

f

.

the

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

almost

–

–

still

experience

.

t

h

a

t

.

hurricane

.

o

f

.

wind,

–

–

rain,

.

a

n

d

.

crashing

waves . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

thundering

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again,

.

a

n

d

.

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave,

–

–

after

wave . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

tossing,

.

a

n

d

.

tumbling,

.

a

n

d

.

turning

us

–

–

up

.

a

n

d

.

down . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

round

.

a

n

d

.

round . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

inside

out

.

a

n

d

.

upside

down . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Every

night

.

f

o

r

.

us

.

i

t

.

came . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Every

night

.

f

o

r

.

us

.

i

t

.

raged . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

awake

today,

.

a

n

d

.

call

your

name . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

call,

.

a

n

d

.

I

call,

.

a

n

d

.

I

call,

.

a

n

d

.

I

call . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

only

silence

.

a

n

d

.

space

are

.

a

l

l

.

that

reign . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ all

.

t

h

a

t

.

reign

.

i

n

.

this

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

haunting

remains . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

haunting

remains . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

haunting

remains . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

it

feels

.

l

i

k

e

.

I’m

lost

.

i

n

.

a

maze

–

–

full

.

o

f

.

shade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

day,

–

–

after

day,

–

–

after

day,

–

–

after

day . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

entertain

.

a

.

vague

parade

.

o

f

.

yesterdays

which

–

–

always

stay

.

t

h

e

.

same . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

I

don’t

–

–

want

it

.

t

o

.

end . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ I

don’t

–

–

want

it

.

t

o

.

end

.

t

h

i

s

.

way . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes,

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes,

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes,

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

replay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

swirling

haze . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

thundering

gray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

hurricane

.

o

f

.

wind,

–

–

rain,

–

a

n

d

–

crashing

waves . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

that

.

i

s

.

the

only

way

–

–

I

can

erase

.

o

r

.

ease

the

pain . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ that

.

i

s

.

the

only

way

–

–

I

can

make

–

–

the

haunting

.

g

o

.

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

close

.

m

y

.

eyes

.

a

n

d

.

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

~ I

wade . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

t

o

–

–

–

the

replay.

Reflection:

This poem largely reflects looking back on a one-of-a-kind, whirlwind romance that happened in the past – and is something most of us have probably experienced in our lives. However, the haunting memory becomes painful when we compare it to where we are and what we have in our life today, but we just want to relive that memory one more time . . . and then again . . . and then again . . . and then again . . . even though we know it’s not good or healthy for us. And we hold on to a pale hope that we might find something like that again and be smart enough to hold on to it and not let it go the next time.

This poem was greatly inspired by the Dierks Bentley song, “Black.” I played this song repeatedly in the background at low volume to create the “moodset” for the poem. If you listen to this song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.