The final Act ?
The curtain must fall, my love must take flight,
slip onto the wings of history and be carried aloft,
onto the pages of a book that can never be written,
therefore, never to be read – history, realizations buried,
that love, in histories eyes, was never a reality,
just a dream, the imagination that fades not from view.
The view of life’s journey, the view of the mind’s eye,
the view of this heart , the view from these old eyes.
Memory, the eyes from which history speaks.
History, the voice – a reality !, - not the dream.
Dreams, the imagination that gives life
to slowly dyeing feelings, emotions
that will not ignite your heart, nor the embers of love.
Your love, but ashes blown by the winds
of discontentment, disillusionment, of none fulfillment.
B. J. “A” 2
October 2nd 2008