What hidden sadness is contained past those daily smiling eyes?

She once loved a poet
A couple lifetimes ago,
In a time where the rhyme
Kept her in the flow.

And to the enchanting poet,
The rose didn't smell as sweet
As his first glances at her;
The seraphs couldn't compete.

He was the poem written on her heart,
The love only found in dreams.
She was bound and determined to have him
By any ways and means.

As fate would have it, they had each other.
Their love intensified by his magic,
His use of word and rhyme,
Slowly turned from romantic to tragic.

Because there is nothing magical about love,
It's really a matter of the heart.
Just because you can write on love
It doesn't mean that's who you are.

I sit in solitude, surrounded by trees
That have been standing for ages untold.
I feel the coolness of an Autumn breeze
That grants a leaf to fall that I hold.

With the leaf transfixed in my careful stare,
I examine its transparent tone.
Searching for answers that could be there,
As if the answers are known.

I wish I might show as much grace
Falling to my demise.
I wish another may take my place
And make Mother Gaia nice.

I wish for transitions
That leave me better than before.
It may be intermittent,
But there might be more in store.

I wish my whispers were as sweet
As rustling, falling, tumbling leaves
That make the world complete--
And without them, the forest obsolete.

Someday this forest may be replaced
With a cattle field a mile long.
Gone with a whimper, without a trace
Will be the leaves I once wished on.

As the sun sets in the east,
Distant thoughts are underlying.
The clocks that hang on barren walls
Are turning back in time.

Our past has been rewritten.
No more anticipating the future world.
The day has now come for us
To see the past unfurl.

So we take out pen and paper
Writing down all that we see
Promising ourselves we'll never tell
Of what is soon to be

But every thing that we see
Can take a different route.
A leaf fallen from the wrong tree
Can change what comes about.

And if that leaf hits water
That just happens to float upstream,
Be careful of the where a bouts
Or somewhere in between.

So future, past, or present.
Take your pick. It's all the same.
We have no control
Over the way to play the game.

You are the king of a place called my heart.
You plant blossoms in the courtyard of thoughts.
Besotted by wine, besotted by me.
Bounded yourself in captivity.