I’ve reached the crumbled shells
of disappointment rooted inside
your kiss – we’ve reached tattered
remains of lies and discontent in
the hours belonging to truth and
I cannot fathom how we got here.
It’s the loneliest hour as I am found
beside myself and beside the bed,
unable to crawl into the comfort
we had once shared, knowing that
you will not be there. I am hurting,
always hurting and you never saw.
I will myself not to cry, for my tears
will go unheard, with no release of
thoughts or pain, so I simply refrain.
I am the loneliest hour, pounding on
the doors of my own heart to let go;
I know disappointment far too well.
Life was beginning again
with the changing of crisp
autumn air and the delicate
scattering of leaves falling
to the warmest of embraces;
where our hands sought each
other more frequently, found
steady with the touch of love,
where our hearts beat faster,
lighting the stars on fire, and
where love was as delicate as
the changing leaves, together
we strolled the days hand in
hand, reliving fall and in love.
I watch as my love, my world,
begins to quake with the gentle
shakes of tears and silent pleas,
hovering in loneliness without
the touch of a delicate embrace
to ease away the troubled minds
of a heart left to break; with my
hands left grasping onto a shell
of the emptiness of another day,
I am left quivering in the silence
unable to mend my world, or fix
my own breaking heart, as I am
unable to save you from yours.
I watched as the flames
burned my impressionable
thoughts and stolen words,
smoldering the remains of
my lasting hope in a dance
of smoke and ash, singing
sighs of cracks and sizzles
while sending sonnets to the
stars, engulfing the night in
flames and memories as the
fire whispers fueled secrets
into our thoughts with the
burn and glow of the night.