Sunday, August 11, 2013


Nothing approaches the coldness
Of a lonely bed at night,
No matter what the season
And regardless of moonlight;
Except perhaps the wakening
As day pierces the dark
To ask so many questions
And freeze the broken heart.
Every diary's date slips by
And scars remain so tender;
Months and years and so much more -
Empty decades of blank agenda.
There must be memories to mark
And sweet sensations to savour;
Bitterness just makes them sour,
'Til regret ruins all their flavour.

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