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Darkened windows
Lights shuttered like a heart’s seclusion
Houses shells for faux lives
Driveways leading nowhere

Late autumn skies
Weep stars of impossibly distant worlds
Glowing cold as the absence of love
Points of pointless illuminations

Shoeless toes
Pointed to hopeless stars
December’s chill stretching for effect
Like the seepage of time that threatens a hopeless romantic

Odd arrivals
Skullduggery on their hearts
Deceptions in their souls
No meaning to their lives

Still, city landscapes
Familiar as a night’s silhouette
A paper machete world to stroll through
Until reclaimed and forgotten

The point of it all
Elusive as the thousandth thought
Of a day run amuck by thousands more
With hope an ever dying whim

Where is she that I long for?
She who springs the heart to soar
A figment, a wisp, a dream
Too much life – too little love.

Or what passes for living
Money, possessions, conquests
All full of sound and fury
Signifying the futility of man’s inability to learn and understand

I sit, barefoot in the drive
Neighbors asleep to their mindless realities
Only to wake on the morrow
Schlep them back up once more

Cycles and circles
No match for time and erosion
Degradation of body and soul
But why love? Why must love die as well?

We taste love
We like it
We crave more and pursue its elusive path
Only to find the tease without completion

Why? Why must love go away?
Was it only a game we played?
If only an entertainment, why does its affect linger so?
And why can’t I let it go?