Met once, in the harbour of need,
She found a soul she thought was akin
To her own, lonely and bleeding
For want of love and she felt it begin.
For a while days took on the glow
of feeling alive, blew away mists from
dull disillusion knowing he
mattered more than his actual kisses.
Distance became a mutual
sore and as never before tears began
staining her hours, duty
bound her and she became fearful.
Pouring out verses of angst
served to assert her desperation, she
survived but control, reserved
for good writing became essential.
And gone now, she wanted no more.
Sleep failed her, she was assailed
With sickness she'd not known before
And vivacity became veiled.
Now looked at, her yesterday-thoughts
Brought back miserable night-black times,
When her words scribed non-action, taught
Nothing but how to keep whining.
Lost love held the winning hand, truth
Was labelled by her own longing.
Compassionate chores wore duty
Reluctantly, rhymes spun sad songs.
But her soul saw a more hopeful rest.
She found life demands detachment,
Then phrases write themselves sensibly
And acceptance of "now" enraptures.
Yesterday's thinking was halted,
Captured in poetic fore-thought.