Surviving Narcissus
In those quiet moments
When the world slipped away...
I believed.
Quiet passion, breath, lips to skin.
I believed in my creation
Which was rapidly changing before me
Dying,
So that I could no longer believe in life.
His jokes were more cruel in those days.
His crowd-moving charisma had become
More like impatient, self-seeking energy.
The lovely understanding had been
Turned to hollow stares and blocked ears.
My sweet creation's face remained just
As beautiful and proud as the day we met.I believed him to be ill.
The coroner spoke otherwise.
I begged for an autopsy.
As they wheeled his body to the examination room
One by one the doctors gasped,
"When did they find this body?"
No death certificate to acknowledge
The life that had left me.The coroner said there was no way to
Tell what had killed my creation.
He believed
My creation had never seen life,
Made it past the conception of
My longing and imagination.
Now I live knowing he never did,
That my creation was not real.
Quietly, I believe in life.
© 2002, Jogan Reproduced with permission
