Echoes of the Dark

A shadow, dancing on the wall.
Even though I'm not waiting for your call,
I'm waiting for you to ring...
Ring through my mind.
Echo.
Reverberate so I may regurgitate,
Relive the moments and memories.
Expend myself recapturing the energies.
Some ironic form of synergy...
The truncated pieces of the conclusion meld to continue endlessly.
Highlights of low, dark places.
I've tried to focus on the good times...
But that's like reading a poem with an explosive end,
And attempting to focus on the good lines.
Our plot was twisted.
Not by fate, but by the hands of the innate.
Safeguards and insecurities,
Very defensive and extra critical,
Assassins in the metaphysical.
As they left us reeling,
We also bumped into the glass ceiling,
Better known as expectations.
Ours were great, and caused more dickens than Charles.
They were not unrealistic though...
Just too much for two people that wanted to be enough.
We lost the simplicity.
Intricacy and intimacy are great,
And they can help two people relate,
But not all matters of the heart need to be ornate.
As I piece together tatters of the patterns,
I hear you calling my name.
Excitement hustles over me,
Before shedding to reveal shame.
I said I wasn't waiting for your call...
Yet I was hoping to answer you when I saw a shadow,
Heard your shadow, dancing on the wall.

-A. Lewis