Everything that follows
Is determined by the past,
Futures un-commissioned
Not designed yet cast,
A distance diminished
That once was vast,
Aspirations unfinished
From the first to the last.

Lovers in the midst
A new kind of sense,
Never faked or hidden
Within secret pretence,
Ne’er refused or forbidden
Or there to condense,
Rigid as oak
With  power immense.

A love then discovered
With truth, given free,
Unabashed and unhidden
For who cares to see,
Horizons and futures
Imagined and believed,
Zirconia stones given
In the search for eternity.

A time of wondrous spirit,
A time of young innocence
When flowers then growing
Combined indiscernible scents.
Torn from root by rough hewn hands
As drama’s conflict appeared in essence.
And there, in the dim light of the dance hall,
Her scent leaves a vague, unattainable presence.

Time passes
And takes it’s course,
Unknowingly directed
From unforgotten source
From where lives intertwined,
Then untangled and forked,
The bright sun giving way
As a bitter rain poured

A mile extends into miles
And the years roll blindly on
Offering maps of nostalgia
Of an era now gone,
But one that remains,
By will or by none,
Within the structures we made
To hang our souls upon.

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017