The end of a man is a woman.

He wears a ring on a chain
laced gently around his neck.
Never to be forgotten.
Never to be dismissed.

He keeps a crinkled photograph in his wallet,
hidden for his eyes alone.
A smile so perfect across full lips
given by an unwavering, honey-eyed girl.

He doesn't sleep anymore.
Nightmares of what should have been
change who he really is.
No one really knows who that is anymore.

Memories begin to fade,
but awake by faint laughter,
by crooked smiles,
by the smell of apples and lilacs.

He maintains a lie to the curious.
A broken heart kept secret,
along with his fear of love and dreams.
Left in loneliness by the dead.

The end of a man is a woman.

The scene:
http://beautyineverything.com/5064159807

Here, in the meadow,
we as children,
(even me)
romp and frolic,
in happy dreams.

Care free, here,
all of us together,
jumping and playing
in the wildflowers,
weeds and sprigs of heather.

Ethereally, I ponder,
(the only way i can)
these sweetest of wishes,
these most daring of dreams,
here inside my heart of good-bye kisses.

It's all that's left,
(of me, you see)
just such brief snapshots,
of sweet wishes lost,
and daring dreams soon to be
forgot...