The wind has not been colder since we grew apart,
The avid clangs of memories do
spawn timeless shapes of what could be,
yet keep us from all that is beyond what we hold in our empty hands.
We walk in a mud shaped avalanche of all that we expect,
We stand inside that happenstance,
Too afraid to move, too afraid to let go!
…that sorry weakened vine that serves to tie us to such memory.
That empty hand did hold that weakened vine;
Did hold that span of distant crime,
I long to see it go, see it fade into timeless nothingness,
But what, as I stare at empty hands, doth keep me to this vine?
It is not my grip, it is not my strength, this vine is wrapped around my heart.
It has been an eternity since we grew apart,
A not forgotten distant stare, memories singed into empty air,
We tug, we push, we pull again, cyclic anger without an end,
Someday perhaps we’ll pull anew, pull together as lovers do
Perhaps, perhaps…the sun set down-another day gone through.
The wind that howls each passing day,
the wind that drives each a different way,
This thickened rope hath intertwined,
This vine, this vine, chocked forever out of lovingness
Since we grew apart.