how does your name echo
through the shadows of this home
I listen to the branches tapping
on the roof, in unison with our clock
These candles flicker away
this hard chair holds my sorrow
We sit twelve heartbeats apart
yet those beautiful eyes I do not see.
Those phrases you spoke, I do not hear.
Those silken hands I don not touch
those frozen breezes pain my heart.
With books I remember thee
with miss Austen and Brontee
we both are at the worlds mercy
but you left me to brave it alone.
What little world's we live in,
to strive to be a part of.
never taking advantage of our dreams
only taken advantage of by trivialities.
My heart overflows with desire,
to have you at my side.
Sweet breath and countenance
how I miss you, your caress.
this wood house does no justice
to the twenty five years we had
scratches on the floor only paint the daily path you bore.
If only I walked with you
maybe you would not have walked away.
I read your letter, our life.
A single piece of paper, a pencil,
Our lives were worth so much more
than that single word "goodbye",
I see your face in three pictures
With our sons; you sat erect,
With me at the wedding, you loved.
With the woman in movement...
I cry the most at this.
Your seriousness is painful,
I feel I tortured your soul.
You ran from me.
I am alone in this kitchen,
the snow hisses against the window
the lamp wavers in the hidden draft,
my chair creaks its cryptic words.
I shift and stifle a cry.
Leaves my heart with pains,
Clarentine, your world is in these pictures,
where stoically your dreams come true,
where reality cannot wrench you from the Eden
your mind builds.
Clarentine, I sadly leave,
broken forever, taking with stones with me
as a remembrance of thee.
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