Out of the Shadows

This unpleasant silence signals what's been lost,
And what remains, the latter little. I've resolved
To stop myself from coming here. The sun
Lights patches of her lawn, but we are in the
Shadows of the maples, on the ground where
Nothing grows, and what I thought was love
Is gone. I look into her face, its warmth
And joy replaced by tension. She would
Rather that I go. I rise, alleging I have
Somewhere else to be. I don't. I say I'll
See her later, but I won't, and, stepping
From the shade into the light and warmth,
I notice sounds I hadn't heard before. I turn
To see her weakly wave, and quickly turn
Again. Already, I feel stronger. In my
Absence, I suspect she'll feel the same.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 61 times
Written on 2010-06-29 at 14:35

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