An ancient murmur like moss and vine,
A verdant spirit softly rose,
Full of poetry, harmony and soul.
She must stroll like water —
A sweet tendril of shade and blue.
Breathe and blossom, there she is,
Shining beneath, the Eden within.

So out of touch,
Lost, out overlooking sea.
Adrift, alone —
Cast out, wayside of the rift.
Scream, beg, but no sound.

Tired, futile to ease,
One foot forward, drag the back.
Adrift, alone —
Struck down, caught by the plague.
Scream, beg, but vacuum surrounds.

So uneasily unstable,
A crumbling world, can't fix the cracks.
Adrift, alone —
Fallen once, an angel, now trapped.
Scream, beg, but alas,

No sound.

I wrote myself letters,
And there they sit -
Behind the pink wax canvas,
Forever locked alongside
The skeletons in my closet.

Shame imbued in every word,
My soul spilled onto the pages
I ripped from notebooks,
To be added to the mess
Of my growing misery.

Eight separate letters,
Written over the years
And in every single one,
You can feel the desperation building -
Festering, like all my open scars.

I reread the letters,
Tears streaming down my face,
Leaving a wake of fire behind,
My heart stopped every at word,
I choked with every breath.

All the passive comments,
And the insults slung like bullets,
I was my own judge, jury and executioner,
How can someone become
Their own firing squad?

But what hurt the most,
Was the mantra of apologies,
Chanted like a sinner's prayer.
A hundred "I'm sorry"s,
Each one cutting deeper than a blade.

I wrote myself letters,
And there they sit -
As a reminder of who I was,
And of the place, I've sworn,
I will never go again.

The sweet nectar of Spring,
And a love forgotten with time.
Forever longing for the future,
Yet ignoring the past left behind.

The husky breath of Summer,
And a burning fire left to bate.
Forever haunted by memories,
Yet terrified of what does await.

The cozy dream of Autumn,
And the tired lover is lost.
Forever stuck fantasizing,
Yet always vulnerable and soft.

The cold apathy of Winter,
And the spark of love has gone.
Forever trapped in the cycle,
Yet waiting for a romantic dawn.