(Broken hearts conjure broken souls

Go ahead and ask me…I tell you…I know)

Quick are the tongues that break them

But slow is the passage of time as the

Essence of what those words are

Slowly course through the body of

The one who received them as a poison

From which there may be no cure.

Yes time becomes a new enemy with

Each ticking of the minute hand and

One day gives no quarter to the next

And mocks you with a kind of indifference

To the sleepless night that fast approaches

As the shadows grow long across your face.

Old letters that used to lift you up now

Weigh heavy upon you like a yoke forged

Of steel and engraved with broken promises

With the key far to intricate to puzzle out

As the enemy slowly pushes the moon

Towards the next uncertain day.

Pictures become prison bars of regret

That you look through anyway in hopes

Of finding answers to questions that

Have no real solution save for the fact

That once upon a time they were the

Only solutions that mattered.

(Yes…when hearts are broken…dreams are shattered)

END

“Prisoner”