When first we fell in love
the world was born anew
but expectations of
a married life came true

and time somehow turned caring
into the habits formed
now instead of sharing
an emptiness forlorn

extends beyond the walls we've built
till all of life turns gray
and each of us lives with the guilt
that stems from our dismay

When was it that our love turned into sorrow?
Each morning, still, the sun shines in
yet the grief of loss becomes tomorrow's
beginning that grows to the end

Will the patterns that we wove in time
become an image burning bright
or will they paint a picture of
no more than unrequited love…?

? Michaelette ?