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
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