I can taste the days
of reoccurance
I can see the gathering clouds
of deterence
They see me
I feel the ghostly touch
upon the handrails of life
The cold calculating edition
of a life out of print
There's poetry in the garden
Petals fallen from the blossoms of my dreams
If I never see your face again
I will understand
Some day I will hold my
fingers to your side
Someday . . .
I hold the hollow
of your presence
the ache of loss
the absence of love
As I am left standing
when all the others have gone
You gifted me in song