There was this grief of a Permanent kind Etched upon her face – Light playing shadows Christened, “Solitude,” And a dark that’d dance before The grace of those long gone.
And so, he’d grabbed her hand, Nudged her cheek with a Nose broken crooked, Tender was the trust bent her back And failed was the promise As “tomorrow,” never was; It’d never ever be.
Sure, tomorrow, the day after And tomorrow once more Happens for others, But one more year, for her, Would be carved upon brow Come one more drink, One kiss and the other, dead.
That door’d been destined to slam And soon it did with tear drops Abandoning the never delicate face; Eyes like a reservoir missing fish, Pupils with paddies depleted rice, And once again, but one, “tomorrow,” Shy an hour or twenty.
Crippled, she’d carried, crippled And carried on, All the way And with only pennies to show With a back bent epochs and Crooked to bury crook; Under dirt, Under home and alongside The love she’d never lost for him.