Unforgiven

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My heart still seeks those lost trails of yesterday
bright yellow leaves of autumn lining every path.
Familiar chatter from windows and streets,
and a returning sense of ancient pulse;
two hearts beat – lost dreams recede,
like watered mirrors in my past.

And if might I recognize what reason
this silent, disturbed drawing weeps,
I, like flame to lantern, fall into it,
and somewhere through it, unto your heart I creep,
would then my tears of sorrow,
be too small a rose to bear?
Would in some graceful net I stumble,
or heart in my voice tear, to leave me,
as once defenseless , and shrouded in despair?

For life’s passions within me subside to anger.
The bitterness and rage of a single word
protrudes far beyond the imagination,
and no quieter is he, than his own frustration.
Silence, lines these paths I go—
it builds in shadows, both dark and low.
And loneliness is a river that gently flows
back into times, I so painfully recall…
that, but memory knows.

Though, amidst these summer nights I’ve stood
with open conscience of star and sky.
One falls from the heavens to lost horizons,
skips into my dream, and dies.
But I now know the stillness of them,
in ways that only the sea has known—
in ways that only a child remembers.
If cast out, forever alone.

For to have lived but once, an earlier dawn,
while in a world’s dark rushing tide,
once in the gray shadows of dying suns,
one may learn his place to hide.
And however painful a breath may be,
sleep shall come.
Wherever in fields of broken dreams… still, sleep comes.

I drooped in my sadness, without sympathetic care,
when asked so little; one whose patient heart;
bound up small words, she thought I’d hear.
Of fading embers of love, a tear,
   that I, but too blindly,
      tore apart.

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