Missin' You (Still) Poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro

Inspired by Vita Sackville-West
And train rides on the open plains
Blanketed in snow, so lovely
And thoughts of one that never fade


Reduced to a thing that wants you
Composed a beautiful letter
To you in the sleepless, darkest
Hours of the night, but it's gone

I just miss you, in many ways
In desperate and human ways
You would never paint such a phrase
As elementary as that

Perhaps you would not quite feel it
I could adorn it with a phrase
So exquisite, but it might lose
A bit of its reality

For with me, it remains quite stark:
I miss you ever more and more
More than I could have imagined;
And I was prepared to miss you
So badly each and every day
So this poem is a squeal of pain
Hard to conceive how essential,
Memories of you have become

Supposin' you are accustomed
To hearin' these things from people
Damn you, you beautiful creature;
I cannot make you love me by
Givin' myself away like this
But I cannot pretend with you
Nor be clever and stand-offish
I love you too truly for that

You have no idea how I
Pretend with those I do not love
I have brought it to a fine art
But you broke down my defences
And I don't really resent it
Please do forgive me for writin'
Such a miserable letter
I am just followin' the words

Hopin' this mornin' would find me
Less depressed but no, it did not
Went to bed as black as can be
Why are you not with me? Oh, why?

I do want you so frightfully
I want you now more than ever;
You are the height of my desire,
And I am sent into despair
Wonderin' how it can ever
Be realised. Can it, ever?
It is dreadful how I miss you
The Dark Muse directs all my thoughts

Everything that everybody
Says seems silly and insipid
Surely lackin' a zest for life
Sisters of sorrow sigh and sigh

Comes down to this; to be with you
And not with anybody else
Supposin' you will get so bored,
My goin' on and on like this

Only here's the thing; it comes back
And back till it drips off my pen,
Words determined on the page
It is quite true that you have had
Infinitely more influence
On me intellectually,
In everyway, than anyone,
And for this alone I love you

© Cowboy Coleridge