i walk that pavement year on year.
I can feel her hand so close to mine
but unreachable, the gap a ravine.
The infinite hope of puppy love steers
the future towards regret as if
innocence could not be spoiled by lovers' tiffs
or the dreary weight of routine year by year.
but does she walk that pavement in the shade
of retiring years, wondering perhaps?
I hope she forgives the cruel trade
of youthful passion for the blind maps
of self regard and its terrors - my fleeing
from the simple truths of love.
There I walked alone, not seeing
about my feet the discards from a treasure trove.
No comments:
Post a Comment