Posted: February 6, 2013 in Home

To a burnt out love

Now that you are dead on this page to me
I am raking over useless embers.
In a fitful dream that I may still see
if either one of us now remembers

what we were, had or hoped for in the past,
in all the time before that fire died down,
that ever could have made our romance last.
Or were we always predestined to drown

its light with endless bucket loads of scorn?
To suffocate it to a smoking heap
of ash and clinker, so it was stillborn?
Almost before it had a chance to leap

and spark into such an unstoppable blaze
that could have lasted till our final days.


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