Monday Poem: Promises

Promises

I do not want to search the night's dark skies
just for the possibility of stars
when I can watch as you undress again
at this, another ending weary day.

The dreams we held in younger hands are gone
like dying flowers left to rot in bins
by dusty paths between the oldest graves
with headstones falling lost in deep long grass.

We walked together down that path one day
to find a cooler shaded shadowed spot
underneath an ancient horse chestnut tree,
but we were younger then and summer skies
held promises forever blue and ours.

Now we have crowded beaches, sitting here
to watch our children play in sand and build
these castles, knowing how the sea destroys
by creeping waves, and wipes it clean again
like promises once made, but never kept.

 

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PUBLISHED: Recursive Angel (09/2001)

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