Fear – Page 6 – Hearts Still Care

Due

The seasons have left,
there are none for my future.
My measure stands bereft,
old wounds know no suture.

The leaves have crumbled
into a crypt filled with dust,
all of love lies jumbled
with loss, lies and lust.

It’s a mire of confusion.
What has life led me to?
It all seems like an illusion.
Who am I? Who are you?

The wind is still, the heat is here,
Hands take what they can.
I am left with what I think is fear
And no real measure of man.

My dogs die, like the seasons do,
Though I enjoy each most.
All that seems to remain true
Are the illnesses I guiltily host.

Regrets I have borrowed,
When I prided myself on having none.
And everything I followed,
Seems to in infinite circles run.

The sun now holds one promise,
maybe I yearn for him to be true:
somewhere, I will find my share of bliss,
sometime, I will be given my due.

The morning gives me no solace:
It has come with heat and light
And I find myself asking
For the dark horns of the night.

Then I find love, soaked in desire,
Wrapped up in your arms and hair,
Smells of burgers and coffee,
Snarled sheets hiding all that’s bare.

The sun brings in the future,
The future has torn the heart,
Time sheds light on the knowledge,
That soon you and I must part.

Families, jobs, money wait;
The sun brings them all back in;
I fear what the world might say,
How you were lead in to sin.

The sun burns my exposed skin,
All hair shines like molten fire;
The sun just shows me the truth,
The stars just show me desire.

I could wait for the next moon:
Who knows just what I might get;
But memories of ones before
Depend on how soon you’ll forget.

The sun barges through the window.
I lean back and draw the curtain.
I note: it’s only his return
Of which I am fully certain.

This is not what I choose to feel,
When all I did was hold you dear;
I’m now hurt with no hope to heal
And instead of love, I taste fear.

The days of happiness die fast,
The tangled moments have no respite,
What will, eventually, last
Is gathered pain, after each fight.

I find that I must cringe and rue
The pain of life, the loss of love,
Who must I relegate blame to:
A devil below, a god above?

But I walked with open eyes,
Thinking this is what should be done
To hold joy before it wilts and dies,
To gather flowers under the sun.

If the skies greyed and storms began,
What matter who merits the blame;
All that counts is I was my own man,
Who held to each rule of this game.