and there was another poem...

solitude

A city, the street torn carcass of another lover's loss.
Tabletop high, long forgot.
And all we have is the spaces in between the silence,
an imposed distance.
A 4am exile,
a pretend call for old friends and their memories.
To resurrect the dead tailings of heart,
of drunken song, of mischief
and moments of entangled ecstasy.
We lose ourselves in fading streetlights after dark.
Like rag to flame, all burns out.
Years pass but the silence weighs just the same.
Our appearances and loss.
Our parts amiss.
Her beauty, too rare to grasp.
My heart, too close to fist.
Symbol crash to radio speaker.
Tone dead anarchist funeral march.
Under bridge, planting trees by moonlight madness.
Know us by the scars that are left.
Clinging to possibility to dream, beyond sadness.
Sleeping on fences now broken.
As rain patters to mute insignificance.
You awake and nothing is spoken.