On Market Street...

Snow falling, twirling, floating through thin frigid air
A couple holding on tight to one another
Clinging to what they were and what they'll never be again
Willing away the icy fingers of despair

But with quiet force it came

Darkness steals in like a masked intruder
The couple does not notice the passing of time
They cannot sense it or the coldness of their fingertips
So hollow they are from what's been torn asunder

Their love so badly maimed

This was not their Autumn of discontent
This was the Winter of their demise
She had not set out to wrench the joy
From their Summer of merriment

Yet she had all the same

She had been unaware of his steadfastly held vision
She did not know the character he meant for her to be
She did not know the role to which she was cast
So was the source of their fission

She held all the blame

In the Ephemeral Stream...

It has been raining nearly nonstop for hours.
The raindrops' cadence on the porch roof reminds me of your song.
I wrap my blanket tighter around my shoulders and rock gently.
Gently back and forth to the rhythm of Mother Nature's song.

I stare out past my immediate reality
To the past we spent together
To the stories we shared
To the passion we found in each others' arms.

I'm staring out at the world not seeing it.
Seeing only my memories.
Feeling only my sorrow.
My eyes start to focus on the sodden earth beyond my front porch.

I trace the pattern of the tiny stream,
Newly formed by the onslaught of rain.
It flows gently down the hill and away from my range of vision
Down the hill and into the wooded area that surrounds my tiny home.

I can see myself now
Riding this ephemeral stream
I can feel the gentle wind on my face
The rain soaking my hair, and body, and soul.

I ride the stream in my imagination
Listening to the sound of your song played by the heavens
Feeling the separation from you
Welcoming the pain and sorrow because it proves what I felt was real

On a Sleepless Night...

I drink my sleepy time tea,
But no sleep for me.

I lay in bed,
But can't calm my head.

I'm no longer sick,
But the night is waining quick.

Another morning on the way,
But I can't end this day.

Instead, I write crappy poetry to occupy my mind.
Crap, what rhymes with mind...um, find?

Maybe I need more tea,
That might be the key.

Or maybe a glug of vodka...
Wait, nothing rhymes with vodka...

But everything is better with vodka,
So I'll use it anyway, um, vodka.

Maybe I will read a book.