Lonely Awaits

Lonely Awaits This gathering furl of past Rising from love’s once moist heart Now but dry sorrow Lingering stubbornly Where once its canvas Of vibrant color Rainbowed the future Today only flaking memories small Drift downward Joining queues of bygone erosion Where emotions of stalwart bedrock Once held firm Like aging scree Time continues biting thin Moving yesterday’s drifts into exile Chased by fossiled feelings Once of molten passion Now but withering dunes Aimlessly adrift This expanse of solitary Whom death made giant of wind And small as hourglass sand Whose Sabbath wore Mary Jane shoes Waxed each Saturday Polished to reflective mirrors Paying homage To steepled Sunday service Was made to sit upright Conscious of ruler at the ready Reciting the ancient book Whose guilt-motive stories Promised good girl suppers To close out Lonely’s black Sunday Agonized memories past Seem ever present Pain’s last remaining stand Pleads why ghost towns await Why deserts only preserve such places From drifting grit of expired time Like the sand Lonely awaits another tomorrow Fractured Scattered Clinging to its impoverished identity Here I am Lonely mutters each night Its head buried in nocturnal safety Unable to forget its childhood fear Perhaps never to be vanquished To always be at the mercy Of wind and tide Its dreamt upon cheerful voice Never being heard Here I am Here I am