This comes from November 2005. I post it again for my own continued abasement and embarrassment.
the death of love
like autumn’s advent
comes slowly at first
and not without its own
terrible beauty
passion, like leaves,
may even flame for awhile,
but the leaves fall and are tossed about
in the wind,
and the passion fades
and one is left with a chill in the air
an ache in the heart
and an emptiness,
as barren as trees after the first
snowfall.
Last 3 posts in poetry
- Forgiveness - September 14th, 2008
- That Was Then – A Meditation on God - September 13th, 2008
- Today’s Poem: The Lies We Tell Each Other - August 30th, 2008
