End of Summer
Love leaks away
into a bitter rivulet
of burnt passion,
and you're gone.
Red mist lifts
from the barren,
spent landscape
and I'm still here.
You left me in
the debris of
my ruined city,
and flew away.
You'll rend yet another
unknown horizon,
to yet another shipwreck,
as yet unknown.
My sour bulk stirs
in the tepid morning
and I make ready
for further day.
Had only you left, laughing,
my dull sorrow would burn
into refreshing rage,
righteous and pure.
Copyright © John Birkbeck | Year Posted 2005
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