Lonely Awaits

Certain answers are never uttered.

Lonely Awaits

This gathering furl of past
Rising from love’s once moist heart
Now but dry sorrow
Lingering stubbornly
Where once its canvas
Of vibrant color
Rainbowed the future

Today only flaking memories small
Drift downward
Joining queues of bygone erosion
Where emotions of stalwart bedrock
Once held firm

Like aging scree
Time continues biting thin
Moving yesterday’s drifts into exile
Chased by fossiled feelings
Once of molten passion
Now but withering dunes
Aimlessly adrift

This expanse of solitary
Whom death made giant of wind
And small as hourglass sand
Whose Sabbath wore Mary Jane shoes
Waxed each Saturday
Polished to reflective mirrors
Paying homage
To steepled Sunday service

Was made to sit upright
Conscious of ruler at the ready
Reciting the ancient book
Whose guilt-motive stories
Promised good girl suppers
To close out Lonely’s black Sunday

Agonized memories past
Seem ever present
Pain’s last remaining stand
Pleads why ghost towns await
Why deserts only preserve such places
From drifting grit of expired time

Like the sand
Lonely awaits another tomorrow
Fractured
Scattered
Clinging to its impoverished identity

Here I am
Lonely mutters each night
Its head buried in nocturnal safety
Unable to forget its childhood fear
Perhaps never to be vanquished
To always be at the mercy
Of wind and tide
Its dreamt upon cheerful voice
Never being heard

Here I am

Here I am