Shadowed not by sickened thought
He sweeps the debris of our days
Onto God’s bonfire
No conscience has he
Heedless of our bitterness
Vitality leaches into time's indecent flow
Leaving only the husks of haunted lovers
Fuel for god's bonfire
Those years he sweeps away
Dead leaves of corrupted love
Whispering of passions spent forever
That sigh death amid the flames
First kitten’s cry
First meeting eye to eye
With she I love so dearly
Let these tears be my death
First home we bought
And filled with love and laughter
Which echo still through solitary bitter nights
Memory is cruel
Gathered, sown and spent
The withered days of joy play around our feet
Rustling flotsam-fuel for god’s fire
Winter comes
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Ron
Regis
if you cannot let go of past as a life experience,
which all go through to some extent, you view yourself
as fodder for the fire. Sad that it was only a memory
and cannot be kept in the mind as a treasure for all
the good that came from it.
Perhaps I'm off the mark, but yes a very powerful poem Keith
Love and Light
Lily
Like Ed said "A powerfully sad poem"