the shadow of your smile

for you are too much in my fingers now
that everything i touch tells me of you;
and all these scattered letters pierce me through
that mine own home becomes a minefield’s row;

even the wind, which never said a thing,
is now a shadow of your smile; and rain,
which fell so quietly along the lane,
now mocks me with your laughter’s echoing ring:

so this is it: that promises cannot
be made to mean a life, and there are tales
that do not end so happily, like nails
once bright but now are doomed to violent lot;

my memory will keep you fair, as years
go by and mould grows on my stupid heart –
yet now the angry crashing bitter art
of loss has spared me far too many tears

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