March 26, 1982, number 2

I was on fire
with a sense of
and you lay serene
in your
sea of tranquility;
and with every rung
that we climbed,
it never once
crossed my mind,
that you were
all at once,
through with me;
when that moment came,
and I heard its name,
I stood hollowly,
not at all in a pose
that showed the best
of me;
I looked entranced,
vacant, askance,
and I had nothing,
absolutely nothing
with which to advance;
I regret my blindness,
even to this day,
since what we had
never should have been
thrown away --
torn up, like so much
and put in the street,
for dark night forage --
we once were special,
and I regret that we
turned out to be
plastic, not metal.

April 15, 2010. Like most disasters, without this one, I would not be in love with the Wifey today, so the silver lining lives.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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