A Poem of the Loss of Love

Dancers on the Storm

We talked of demons; yours and mine.
Deep within our headspaces,
pulling our strings as we were marionettes
forced to dance to the songs of discord.
Each reed and string dripping with our silent cries
to end the chaotic waltz driven by anxiety.
Children afraid to speak of the truth,
as to avoid the inevitable disappointment
that those who we love may choose to not
love us when our words lay bare and the sound
goes flat.

Grasping at the moments of calm where solace
can be found in the still reflection of our eyes
as they meet for the first time in a fortnight
of disheveled attempts to assure the other
that, "everything is okay".
Like a trembling dagger serving as a sword
wielded by Damocles himself.
And yet as the sun sets on the third day,
we are not blessed with the resurrection of hope
but faced with a storm again to whip us up
and apart.

We act like the lovers that fight these whirls
around us, yet know that we are but fools on parade
hiding behind the masks of words spoken
and the poisonous truths that lay behind them.
Assured that the sun will rise on us again
to bring another calm and chance to embrace,
as the sand that burned in the veins of Rome did.
Yet the sun never broke the horizon again.
Nor did the wind break long enough for us to say
any words other than a meek and muddled,
"Good bye"

BxB