Inertia

It weighs us down, this past life we can’t escape.
Not for lack of wanting have I tried to let go,
not for lack of desire, regardless of this heart’s fire–
for only, if only, I could find the peace that comes
with moving on, moving forward, and away
from the chains of your love, I would surrender
my heart to the fire and let it turn to ash
and leave it where I stand in this here and now;
but you bind me, knowingly, willfully, painfully
against my will, and it leaves me wondering:
who is it really that can’t move on?
Who is it really that hangs onto a past
that neither of us want, that for all its greatness
and glory and bright burning love we would
smother with hate and contempt and…
…worst of all….

….blame…

…and that darkness smothers you, your light, your life,
while stagnating mine, despite your feigned well-wishes
and the measures of pretense you offer a world that
always saw you for who you are, even when I could not;
but we must move, else we die, whether it is the heart,
the soul, the mind, or the body—life can be lived
in only one direction: forward. And I must go, with
or without you, with or without the weight of your hate,
else I will cease to be.

And you,
left behind in your own inertia
will be alone.