Dressed up in yesteryear’s clothes,
commencing the “walk of shame”
where passersby know no names –
only someone’s leaving from
where she shouldn’t have been
Walking proud like nothing’s happened,
red eyes reveal streaks of dissatisfaction
‘cause mornings came sooner than expected,
betraying the beauty of kindred dawns.
Resuming appearances undetected, still,
knots swell on the inside, holding tight
to a longing for dreams come true.
Dreams… born of heart’s adventure,
divine anticipation, and womanly speculation,
with hope left uncensored underneath its
cynical skin. Dreams… of being in…
when all the resolute moments define
a lifetime of falling out.
All that’s left is sore.
Sore sights, sore ears, sore lips, sore tears,
sore promises in arrears found a sore core.
Sensibilities say “no more”… and, yet,
there’s always tomorrow.
Suns rise in different shades, but never
fail to shine their rays on reality’s dimming.
And so, possibility keeps brimming
within the soul… believing universal scheming
will one day roll love’s mistress
out of its fleeting bed and into its eternal home.