The last swallow swooped a departing circle
spiraling low
over dusk reaped fields of stunted straw.
Corn harvest gathered,
hay baled for winter feed store.
Gold trashed under combine tracks and tractor trails scarring the soil which birthed it.
The swallow's the last wings of a fading love.
The field a churned despondent heart.
The crop waning memories,
nothing more.

Pygmalion
Do not fall in love
With your illusion
Your marble lust
Will not serve you well
Will not help you grow
But see you soften
And become stale
For though your love
May be statuesque
She will chip
Falling to dust
Never learning
How to be
A beautifully unique
Human being
For she is only
A whisper
Crossing the void
And coming to nothing

hello ,
would you like to hear
about my deepest fears ?
would you?
sometimes ,  at night
i go to dark places
i try to fight ,
but i see scary faces
it all happens in the shadows .

I did not give up. I let go. They are two different things. Letting go is the opposite of giving up. Letting go is moving forward. Letting go is going against every single heartbeat, swallowing every tear, cutting every string. Few people realize this, but letting go takes more courage, more strength, than holding on.