by-Matthew F. Blowers III

When dreams transform

into the drabbest of grays,

and each sunrise becomes

just an annoying light,

in your saline washed eyes,

love slows to a crawl.

~

If the phone sits day after day,

as a deaf mute begging

on your nightstand,

and you no longer can stand

spending every night alone,

crippled by loneliness,

then love stops

though you must go on.

~

When your poetry

becomes an alphabet soup

that fails to warm

that special one who used

to savor every word,

love has died.

~

One must place

a marker where love

has perished in their lives,

taking nothing for granite,

except the stone,

cold and aloof,

that becomes your soul.

~

When the pain

subsides to a dull ache,

and you stagger back

to a world of possibilities,

there will come another,

with curious eyes,

and a welcoming smile,

that allows love

to begin again