Whereto did such warm passion go, my wilful poet?
What robbed your voice of balminess and heat?
Reality, like ice, melts in your verses’ wake.
All misconceptions skewered, fade away.
But with it all, you leave behind too much.
Can’t grasp at mist, ephemeral – all dreams.
You question all the time spent in pursuit:
What is its worth? What quest has value still?
And to this I can only answer thus.
Was not my smile enough upon your pillow’s edge?
Did not my laughter twine its chime with yours?
And when I lingered in amongst your sheets,
Was I not poetry to your adoring prose?
It’s all to be forgotten, you contend.
All sullied in the toss of one cruel word.
It wasn’t worthless. It was love, and then…
If you refuse to treasure it. Your loss
In memories… may never find repose.
In reply to Brittle by OpinionatedMan.