End of day --
Hands jammed in pockets,
You and I shuffle through last year's soggy leaves
Searching for an opening.
Dead grass clumps beneath
And trees with skeleton hands claw their way up
Ghostly monochrome against the bruise-black sky.
This was once our time.
Back when the sleepy world turned to ice
Leaving lunatics and fools to bundle to the ears
And warm themselves by drawing silent pictures in the stars,
We owned this.
But spring's early warmth has hatched the party down the street,
The kids in the alley smoking something or other,
And the neighbour showing off his power with an obnoxious backyard floodlight.
Still, high above us
Orion shows his power in the heavens --
It's the same show, dear,
Just a different venue.
The noise disgusts you, I can tell --
You dig your feet in just a little deeper
As we stare out on those far-off lights
That our brains can't help turning into paintings.
I remember joining them --
The indistinct shapes pulling me along in the wandering,
The stories more real than anything on TV.
Now the skeleton trees demark my cage,
The bars which keep me from visiting the heights --
I'm chained to everyday...
You've broken my wings, my love,
But you don't know because you've never even flown.
"It's no use," you sigh,
"There's nothing here to see tonight."
Funny how the warmth has made the stars grow cold.
You trudge blindly back towards the house.
I stay, willing Polaris to point my way
For I am adrift on this ocean.
But stars are dead tonight,
And better sailors than I would be lost forever.
I see I needed winter chill to find us dancing in the sky --
New life has brought us to an ending,
And I shall mourn for you
Although you'll never notice I am gone.
Um, yeah. A companion to this one, actually.
I'm completely incapable of leaving well enough alone when it comes to love poems. The cynic in me just won't allow it.