He never loved her; she can see that now.
This living space become a catacomb,
As things she swore she never would allow
Have entered into her, and made a home.
A world of color, now turned monochrome —
She wrestles with regret, and thoughts unbid:
He does not love her, and he never did
When lies get messy, truth is pure and clear:
I know it isn’t me you’re looking for.
No matter who “you” are out there – or here –
I’m not the wings or wind that makes you soar.
You gaze out, wistfully, and wanting more —
While I, this lifeless thing exist, that you
Can pass a million times, and just look through
How old you look, left out here all alone!
Your “golden years” seem empty ones, at best.
The voices once rung out; the bright sun shone –
The days of usefulness and being blessed
Are gone, completely gone, with all the rest.
The wind, it blows the grass and clouds away,
As dormant in the field you’re doomed to stay
Warning: I’m kind of in a mood.
Behold: he now has everything but love.
For money can buy many things, it seems:
The living space – the view – we all dream of —
Out on the point of wealth and its extremes,
He rises late, to slowly taste your dreams,
And watch the dragging sun go on its course
As life and love continue their divorce