When Love Was

What happened to the love
we used to share? Held too tight,
it smothers in a grasp. Just let it go,
it dissipates, merging with the whispers
of the wind in endless flight.

Cold, the winter - icy tendrils
taking form, within a hope that
never can be born. Cling to
warmth and watch it slip away.

Sparkling bright, the crystals speak.
Innocence, a loving peak of honesty
that only comes of truth. Beautiful,
the frozen peaks - no pain, just come
to numb.

The winter thrives, attempting to abide
in living forms. Withering, it's grasp
can't nurture much of anything
except the cold of snow and
ice that paints the window's in
attempted artistry.

Frozen tundra of the mind;
weeping still - in silence, blinded
by the heat of passion's rise.
Reaching once again for something
real - an echo brings a memory.

Of all the yesterdays when
love was real...

? Michaelette ?

3/4/2002
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...