Here I stand amidst this old and dear familiar grove.
Where we were happy, laughed together and used to roam.
This special place, where my heart felt warm and contently at home.
In the center, the floret we had wrought with our hands together,
has shriveled and drooped, its petals scarred by life's stormy weather.
As two pairs of hands, we tended to this special flower,
watering its leaves and roots with our love at every hour.
Yet, with your pair missing, the world has sought to devour
this tender and slim thing, it's precious form shivering from this frigid rain shower.
I can only sit and watch, watch as this flower of feelings divine,
degrades into nothingness, as the mites of time gnaw away at it's spine.
Do you even fondly remember this precious blossom?
The very bloom you wished to protect and cherished as awesome?
I wish in my heart, that the roots will take to the soil again,
and spark into new life and flow forth freely like ink from a pen.
Yet, reality is oft crueler than I wish, as the past shall forever remain so.
Shall this sad, sweet flower of ours, never again grow?
What remains for the future of this flower is the only question within my heart.
Is it too late to amend our conflicts? Too late for a fresh start?
To begin anew and salvage this connection that grew?
Am I too late? Did that opportunity pass without a clue?
Should I lament its passing and bury this heartfelt cause?
The only answer my soul knows is that with meeting you, loving you, and losing you, I came to understand my mortal flaws.
I am no perfect being. I am not a perfect man.
No man can truly be perfect, as if designed by a heavenly plan.
We are marred creatures, some with a dream to do better,
to grow from our failings, and gradually remove the past's crushing fetter.
So these mistakes anchored within us all, will be lifted from our souls,
and allow us to bound into the future, free, happy and whole.
Yet still deep within my heart, a sleeping desire it can only utter,
that our love's fire will be reignited, and shall never again sputter.
That I shall return back into the comforts of your warm embrace,
to hold you tight, to love you always and especially kiss your adorable rosy face.
I fell in love with a very dear woman who wrote poetry this summer. She inspired me to start writing poetry again. It was one of the many reasons I fell in love with her. Yet, I made mistakes along the way, mistakes whose gravity I didn't realize until I made the choice to deeply reflect on how things turned out as they did. I'm working to do better by all; but the heaviest weight upon my soul is that I lost the love of the woman that had awoken such love and passion within me.