Letter To a Self-Declared Exile (Poetry)

I have your note —
my mind has photographed your hand writing it —
the childlike roundness of your words gives away
your frame of mind —
the rush to get unfocused anger down —
barbed cruel to bloody me —
so desperate with your need to spread more hurt
you overlook the obvious again
and wound yourself.

You have not thought this through —
but continue to suppose that you are bound
by ties that must be severed —
stab and kill fictitious monsters
someone else has dreamed for you.

Your pain foreshadows those regrets
unimagined now —
the ache to come — the future life alone
in fear of memory.

In time you will be wise
to love’s true nature — only then
you’ll understand that distance can’t diminish
                                or undo —
for the past is a mirror of all things
and freedom lies with what remains of hope —
inside of you.