Afterthought Poem by Amberlee Carter

letting go of soul
is a deadly poetic stanza
I’m unsure there's enough heart left to write.

letting go of soul
is a memo you'll never receive, unless
I write it across the years of my life-when I’m gone,
maybe there your eyes will turn,
to look for meaning.



letting go of soul
was drinking black coffee on a September morning,
mourning the loss of a deadly poet's voice;
how never again, in any season,
would I face the words
that molded worlds into existence-
where being defeated was the only form of contentment,
melancholy, the only friend we could hold hand in hand,
heart to heart, for one moment that meant more than a lifetime-
.

letting go of soul
was losing faith in humanity, or maybe
just trust in one human being-
giving up on the vision, feeling surrender rush over you,
it tasted like sour victory, because it was the war
someone else was to fight, it was the flag
someone else would conquer, and I guess
we all carry those mementos for the fallen ones; those
who cannot love except to hurt, those
who cannot live except to die, those
who I am tragic for.

letting go of soul
was understanding, the battle drums on inside my lungs,
inside the silence beneath my chest plate-
even after the bullets have flown and found a home,
however foreign, inside of my throat-
the words sting deeper still, and I’m all choked up to the verge...
the cause was to find worth or definition outside of the womb,
and I wonder, is all this for my life, or your life?

the homes, the avenues we stemmed from,
broken and abandoned ran down ideas from
some foreign god who couldn't make the grade,
who flunked the final test and became mortal....
do you still think we are not a product of habit or example?
and what have I learned from you? do you ever wonder?

letting go of soul
was stopping here at this cemetery on the drive home,
to hear the music and smell the roses-
in these times, it's the only place that still harbors beauty;
a rose without a name is just another forgotten grave.

letting go of soul
was stepping in anger away from the door,
and it wasn't the words that you said in the scene,
that I replay now over and over in my head,
it was the scene itself, how you'd set it up
for the valiant fall—
and I’ve never gone out silently but I’ll start now,
because in the end, I guess I loved you more.

letting go of soul
is the longest poem you'll never read, that I’ll ever write-
what is not said on these pages, still courses through my veins,
and so much thrives between the lines,
that your eyes will never fall victim to,
but you've already known the greatest of them,
so why taint yourself now with the truth?
it's an anti-lover's-letter to a killer disguised as something
other than its true nature-
but I won't say it,
this way you can feel it
and you can think it
and you can know it
without my help to make you realize it.

letting go of soul
was a final kiss toward a weeping sky, no,
toward a universal dark that spits iridescent hope-
blown from a sorrowful, aging fingertip.
our comforter: conversation, walked away,
leaving lies in our bed to make love to- and now you've married,
bound yourself to some rooted deception, I was foolish enough
to try and untie you from, and what is worse, I still care,
even though you like to rape yourself of virtue.

letting go of soul
is
I love you no less,
but
never again
and detachment in the hardest sense-
worse than giving up my own crutches and devises, worse
than saying farewell to the sins that define all the reasons why
I should be saved from myself.

letting go of soul
was a beginning and an ending lacking the guts-
the middle portion that tells us what it was,
and how so little could have amounted to so much less
than previously felt, or imagined by the insignificant dreamer,
who only had a mind for dreaming of you.


letting go of soul
was defying the mentor, rebuking
the rules and unwritten commandments,
thinking greater than madness himself-
but even I am wasted space on a vague evening
only ghosts can encounter, therefore no one, except you,
will ever remember.

letting go of soul
was a patient, magnificent day, that gave me a beautiful hurt,
I praised the anguish for- and for the first time
enlightenment struck; I had faith in the pain without knowing,
without questioning where it was really coming from, you?
or someone like you? I understand that now, so you don't have to.

letting go of soul
was being born in a deathbed, a slow burning pyre
lit for my own memorial service-
funeral hymns from dead angels,
it makes me confused to know you're one of them.

letting go of soul
is a dead poetical stanza
you'll probably never have voice enough to recite.