Oh Ts Can You Hear Me? Poem by Anji Carter

Perhaps I too shall slip and slide
With those remembered friends,
When seeking for my personal rainbows end.
As ‘J. Alfred combs his hair
And sits upon my empty chair,
I know that he has come to share my ‘toast and tea'.
The marmalade that lands face down
To form a sorry orange crown upon the board.
He's always there, and so am I
To share the pen or perhaps it was the sword.
Oh TS can you hear me still,
I know the effort up the hill,
My breath is short from too much weight,
And how the hell to navigate,
Without my glasses.
You left too soon,
We should have met you and I.
Not you, the prince,
But who would wish to share ‘Ophelia's' fate?
No.
Much better then, this lesser role,
And who's to say it hasn't equal soul,
Or what it has, negate?
Not I.
For I have woken early and lain late,
To watch the pictures of my life redecorate my ceiling
Like a knife.
I hear the seagulls swirling in a summer's sky.
There must be storms on the horizon,
For them to stray such distance when they fly.
There is a weight beneath the sun that follows me.
I sought the shadow under the rock,
Beneath, against and on the rock
With which man's son?
Or were I to be true,
Perhaps it was with none.
And what I ask myself
Have I become?