The Calling Winds of Reflections

On the farthest hill in my mind, a bell rings. It rings for each tear that has fallen for tomorrows, drenching lost faces of so many yesterdays. Flooding the tombstone of my heart, etched with the fading names of sorrow, buried and aged by time and its slow passing. This world where love is a ghost, that haunts every cold lonely night, where bewilderment is a single beam of light, piercing the darkened stage, as shadows act out a confused play, fraught with cries and anguished hearts, left abandoned and alone. This heart naked, lays splayed across love's pyre turning slowly into ashes with every shallow breath, soon to drift away with the calling winds of reflection, as the bell stills and will ring no more.