Misty
now the memories
Snatches of bright, clear light and holiday colors
lost in the fog
The promises sound evil and hollow, the songs like moans of pain
Open mouthed laughter is replaced by tremulous smiles
Hands, once pressed hard together, and locked with interlaced fingers,
unravel
as the rope uncoils,
and our ships sail out across the
stormy waters
of a last and longing look at fading love,
at the flickering mirage
of you and me,
battered
by the blizzard of
indifference
that arrived so suddenly.
Whether or not we’d weather it was the question.
And in the calming wake of
absence
lies the answer,
in the depths and
unsalvageable wreckage
of our
separate selves.
© Alfred W. Smith Jr.
Beyond Panic 