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A Man His Soul Dwells, In Treasures, Mixed With Sorrows

When a memory flies like a broken arrow.
Heart cries its aches, like a wounded, bleeding sparrow.

A man his soul dwells, in treasures, mixed with sorrows
Often looks back more than, at sweeter tomorrows
Night comes with red gashes and tons of dark lonely
Cries he for her- wishing, wishing for,  if only
Only those days of splendor,  Love falling like rain
To feel her touch, smell her long blonde hair- yet again.

When a memory flies like a broken arrow.
Heart cries its aches, like a wounded, bleeding sparrow.

A man in old age sees love and life in his dreams
Mixed with hurt and too oft wading bloody-red streams
Yet on ancient banks, lies hidden honeyed treasures
Beyond hope's rescue but within mercy's measures
So says torn out heart and its most grievous desires 
That can again ignite most wondrous of fires.

When a memory flies like a broken arrow.
Heart cries its aches, like a wounded, bleeding sparrow.

A man his soul dwells, in treasures, mixed with sorrows
Often looks back more, than at sweeter tomorrows
Night comes with red gashes and tons of dark lonely
Cry he for her- wishing, wishing for,  if only
Only those days of splendor,  Love falling like rain
To feel her touch, smell her long blonde hair- yet again.

When a memory flies like a broken arrow.
Heart cries its aches, like a wounded, bleeding sparrow.

Robert J. Lindley,  December 22nd, 1977, December-10th, 2019
Rhyme, ( Those Blues, That A Sad Soul Refuses To Abandon )
Born from an old 1977 poem fragment... 
with a bit of hindsight and a wee bit of now well aged insight....

Syllables Per Line:	
0 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12
0 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12......................
Total # Syllables::312
Total # Words::::::236

Note: 
This fragment sat in my private journal for 42 years. 
I simply could not finish it when it was a part of my
youth, my living, my aching sorrows. When I felt that 
my life would have not any more tomorrows! Today, a 
fresh look and my muse told me to splash some ink, and
soak anew some lonely paper......

Puer natus est sapientia non habuisse animam O'that tam diu!
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