I walked along the garden path of shadow seeking day,
To visit with the aftermath of love given decay.
The flowers strewn along this walk, so stately in its course,
All dusted with a silky chalk I've known too well... remorse.
The fine powder, clinging to skin, softly adorned each finger;
As I found myself lost within a moment set to linger.
Unraveling as thoughts unpenned, ‘was then I saw her eyes.
The apparition only grinned in seeing my surprise.
The image of a hope long dead, a dream gone long afore.
I stood there, face to face with dread, then stood a moment more.
With the words swollen in my chest, while panic claimed my tongue,
I bled silence to the behest of sorrows never wrung.
The flower fell from my dry hand, as tears welled in eye,
As if misguided to a land where it would soon, too, die.
I watched the soundless moment fade, in isolated fear;
And vaguely let one thought invade: another wasted year!
The evidence proudly in place, the etching on the stone;
I surrendered to the embrace of one more night alone.
And watched by dawn the drifting hope of nightly shadows fled,
Knowing by the sanction of day that I too, must be dead.
Michael Anderson
