Ordinary Person

I don’t buy anything you say
anymore because the words
sound so hollow,
the inspiration you give
no longer invigorates
me, it’s like lukewarm, insipid
coffee: weak and powerless,
I exist because I think I need to,
if there is a place lower
than depression
where a person’s dead though
he still breathes, I’m there,
empty and lifeless,
I wish your dreams for me had
come true even though I
disdained them then,
that way, at least
I’ll have something to
hold on to now,
my visions for the future
have evaporated
like water turning into steam,
but my goals were only
self-aggrandising fantasies
making me the chosen one
in a fantasy book
fighting off hordes of enemies
with newfound powers,
I’ll be nothing without you, I know,
but I also realise that we have
to find a higher love,
going beyond illusion
replete with the warmth from
the hearth keeping us
together using invisible,
fiery threads,
the pain of the past forgotten,
we need to find love that
maximises the present,
weaves through lost time
and broken reverie,
helping us know each other
beyond emotion and promises,
a hope that hushes hopeless
requiems in minor and
composes a morning song that
greets even decaying autumn
with what we once called life.