tissued hope and mourning, for those long past days
no common ground to meet on--or for it to last
unsated dreams and longing without the sweet repast
it is not with anger that I can now look back
on a path not traveled and the aftermath
the music was once beautiful, to my ringing ears
a whisper of lost magic from when you were near
it is not with regret that I let it all go
the dreams still come as vignettes, with the lunar glow
no longer just a nightmare, no longer a whispered prayer
what stays in thick, dark shadows and was never really there
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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