While a stroll
quiet evening breeze
swift is memory
include her dream
the once was,
a maybe
then tears afterward
he didn’t know
though compassion
remained in his heart
the craziness
our silent intrigue …
shattered within
her heart,
iced inside his
constant appeal.
The autumn
could have been
quite enough
in its servitude
dragging in the reality
of winter in hand
our lives taken apart
by the elements
returning us home
long enough to forget
for a moment,
until the thaw
when
one walks forward.
Oh to know the pain
he served
an impassioned love
he forgot his way
her efforts ignored
sans the loneliness
responsibility her will
his defeat.
