My Bitter Heart

My bitter heart, a ghost that ever lingers at the edge of sight First seeking, then fleeing as if by chancing that which it desires most Might forever add permanence to its lonely sentence Still the specter remains, shrieking in sleepless sleep Wailing in her misery for that which was lost and what can never be She haunts my dreams by day and night with woe of circumstance I feel her arms enfold me and her lips still claim my own A trace of honey lingers from mead once tasted, but no more Not but fickle memories to taunt and scorn me for the fool I am My hands are empty of all but time, and that, the heaviest burden I carry it alone, and alone I will remain though the world surrounds me This bitter cup, once sweet, falls empty to the ground…spent. ~Christopher Thor Britt