Love Poem: Four Empty Years Filled With

Four Empty Years Filled With

Four empty years 
- Filled With –

Four life times have slipped away. 
Left, this barren, a broken plane 
remaining in the throes, locked in, 
great moments, in memories hoard. 
where all of one’s life is stored. 
Living, once was never bored.

Four life times have slipped away 
since that fateful, Thanksgiving day.
Roses wither, peddles fall,
surrendering to fates call.
Experiences should fade, 
all the adventures should be staid.

Four life times have slipped away, 
memories permeate, upon the heart, they play.
Four is the number deeply carved into the trunk 
of this tired old body, a mind in a funk, 
a heart desiring, laying in the mist of that time 
where memories of moments are so sublime.

Four life times have slipped away.
The original life, hanging on so tightly, 
never letting go, not even slightly 
as it flies aimlessly between then, 
on broken wings, and when.
Where hope, the healer, could mend.

Four life times have slipped away. 
Wild horses cannot drag these memories, 
from this barren plane, locked in the fray,
between those moments and todays realities. 
The road has been rough and long.
The road has been, I have not been strong

Four life times have slipped away. 
The road seems to go on for eternity.
The load has been heavy, no remedy 
for all this self-imposed insanity.
The load weighed me down, I shed many tears 
during these long and winding, four years

Four life times have slipped away. 
For many a day I did pray.
Alas, they were not but shooting stars. 
Like memories, they streaked across the heavens
of my memories hoard, brilliant beams of light
lighting up all the dark places that have permeated. 

The four life times that have slipped away. 
Shooting stars come, shooting stars go,
as life time’s come, and life time’s go, 
each leaving an impression across the skies 
as you have done so many time upon my eyes 
even if just for a moment, before, for you it dies

Four life times have slipped away. 
You opened so many glorious doors, 
sent forth all those beautiful stars, 
for a moment, burn out, then gone.
Unlike them my Dear, you do, 
not fade from my minds view. 

B. J. “A” 2
October 20th 2014