Thursday, 20 November 2014

Miles Apart

Spring will not blossom,
No rose will bloom,
Her heart will wither away
In the cold wintry gloom.

She'll die a little this day,
Every moment, everyday,
Her soul will know intense pain
And the dreaded color gray.

Miles apart, barely sentient,
She'll wait, she'll paint,
Happy pictures of togetherness
Till the numbing aches faint.

She'll know not happiness,
But the harsh chill of loneliness,
She'll pray he returns in the fall,
Before her life evanesces.