A poem
We remembered seared hearts filled with pain,
of loss both far and near.
Here, now, we rage
against the face of thwarted plans,
a melody of love
mending broken, stolen dreams.
You are without end or beginning,
a thousand fading memories.
In the quiet hours, I listen for you
but only see the flush of paeony,
the color of healing scars
while sitting in this memory
of heartache, that wilted away with the twilight.
I hold deeply in my heart
what once was, of the woman
whose presence I miss.
A single red rose
on a frosty winter’s night.