Death of the Lover

Death Of The Lover Out of the bleakest darkest memory that I'd endowed to what must be there came a burning to my mind as cold as life to me. For all the will I had, and how I tried, to find a place my soul could hide where I'd be safe from all alone; short of my lunacy. In all the secrets of my love's desire that first showed with her love for hire I never knew her failing heart would take her life from me. In mine own madness when she died away the tears I shed were night and day in search of where she might have gone where life just doesn't see. There's not a thought I didn't call to mind as possibilities to find the place she died into that day and there, love might send me. © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet