My lonely soul is stirred deeply, with in this bond
yet in all that one writes, it says all everything,
to wish of stimulus words, born of magic wand
stanza to create, yet not one a mind does bring.
The flame with in this heart, obscure now you are gone
frozen doubts breed contempt, thus leaves nothing behind,
while upon a litany of time, life goes on
yet destroys all deeds innocent, secrets refined.
The wind brings no promise, only cuts deep this day
a memory of your lips, touched upon the screen,
to have not a option, the story of one’s spae
one is cast to deviate, to react the scene.
Yet on the horizon, a golden dawn above
another chance I ask, I: this stranger to love.
© Harry J Horsman 2012