.

Dark clouds gather
above empty fields
where barren landscapes
feel the coming chill
of lonely times
lurking just over the ridge

Shadows of future dreams
crawl slowly in another direction
Desolate figures
on hands and knees
hide from wanting eyes
and grasping fingers

Sunny afternoons are shoved
into back pockets
with the love poems
written for her
that will never see
the light of day

And as they shovel the dirt
upon this weathered face
teardrops create mud
as the realization comes,
that the darkness
is what was meant to be