Always
An errant wind ruffles the
surface of the lake,
disrupting the satin sheen,
quicksilver becomes watered silk.
The breeze caresses the old man
and he looks up in wonder
as he sees the spirit of God
moving across the face of the water.
He loved you always.
The wind is no more than a gentle sigh.
The old man sighs with the wind.
Memories plague his psyche.
Ruefully he smiles, he must protest:
Life is not short, it is interminable.
He loved you always.
A grey cloud scuttles across the horizon.
He rubs a weathered hand across his face.
His heart sits like a stone in his chest.
The lake and the sloping yard and the
ancient trees and the old man long for you,
for the gaze of your eyes,
the touch of your hand,
for your mere presence.
He loved you always.
He ponders the errors he knows he made.
He is wounded by your impatience.
The sky begins to weep as the tears
run down the old man's face.
The surface of the lake pings as the
old man rises wearily.
The sky is shattered.
He loved you always.
He slowly makes his way up
the broken path,
laid with such great love
so long ago, hardly able
to bear the weight of
his memories.
He was once your resident hero.
He loved you always.
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