As I walk in this
dead winter, the moon
is silently moving
above the trees.
Dimming lights
pushing through the branches.
From the traceries
of the past.
Hoping to find a resolve
of this void.
The wind shifted. Swiftly,
drifting through
my pain. From afar,
a light is flickering.
Sharp are his words
has become. Slashing.
Taking a monstrous shape.
I've promised, I will
forbid this heart to want
him again.
cassey wolsh
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-love-nearing-its-end/
