A Different Power of Love
Being so without love,
Or having lost it,
That has a power too.
Forcing a different type of passion,
One that makes me sit in a box,
In the dry desert,
Head bobbing, repentant as a saint.
It compels me to seek solace,
In flaying myself with fatigue,
Begging for more work,
Exercising, until pain brings fast sleep,
Or so one hopes.
Doing anything to un- remember,
Urgently soaking up each moment of the day in activity,
Seeking so hard to make each instant have no thought.
But trying to forget you is like forcing myself to sleep,
It only keeps me awake and thinking.