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Standing in the Cold

and so it comes to this.
standing beneath the archway
of passion, and unbridled emotion.
my old worn hands tremble
a little as i pass the cup.

and your eyes have a faraway
glint; not conscious, not here anymore.
lips that once knew the language
of mine, are terse, and set.

where did the living go?
the laughter, the touching,
that lay awake at night and
watched me sleep, as if drunken.

and all the words whispered
as if magic and secret, hidden
in the place that no one else knew,
that no darkness could touch...

gone. now winter is over.
the earth begins to swell and burst.
somwhere small birds are singing,
and raindrops hang from budding branches.

only the memory remains.
time marches on; and God, or destiny,
without thinking, or hesitation,
has ordained this death!

love swallows the first glint
of morning sun on the horizon;
and leaves me standing in the cold,
too damned tired to shiver...

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