Ghost Limb

Affixed to myself,
I would not remove my hand
the same as I'd never have removed you from my life.
I acquiesce that I have grown rather attached to my body
down to the darkest crevices of my shape,
despite its imperfections and penchant for becoming ill.

It is this evening I find myself thinking,
lingering on despair I'd pity upon another.
 
...No, indeed it is true that I'm not thinking.
In truth, I am feeling.
 
I move my hand,
my fingers bend from the first knuckles
all the way down to the last.
Every day, I have used these hands in thankless tasks,
never thinking how might my life be without them.
Still, I carry on.
 
I move my legs
in a thoughtless motion, one after the other,
and my feet carry me where I want to go.
Every day, I have the opportunity to move,
never thinking how might my life be without that luxury.
Still, I carry on.
 
A semblance of my whole self exists,
though on a continuum I don't have access to
- the past.
I can remember that deep feeling of completion,
as if there were nothing more I could want than what I had.
It was innocent, touched not by greed nor lust,
touched only by a want for growth.
Can blame be placed when acting on nature?
 
This deep feeling, grown and prospered in the summer sun,
became a part of my body that I took for granted.
Every day, I lived in the very moment where I existed,
thumbing the page I was on
with no thought to what might lay ahead.
 
Growth and prosperity in mind,
the severance was that of amputation,
a quick but surefire distancing
that acted as would a knife to my hand or leg.
Bleeding from my eyes,
I did not know where the wound lay,
only that it was there
and I was in pain.
 
Education meant to teach me tools of healing failed me.
I did not know how to heal a wound I could not see, just feel.
Bandages are useless for a maim that's within,
and for many years
I bled.
 
Eons since detached from my being,
I can still feel inklings and remnants of that deep contentedness,
a hint of happiness among the despair that has become my life.
I go to use that limb to reach for that more fulfilling happiness
and I fall on my face.
Each new bruise exists as a reminder of the love that once was,
now just a ghost limb in my life.
Every day I don't have the opportunity to love
for without that limb, I wonder how I might ever love again.
Still, I carry on.