Counterpoints of Loss

I gazed longingly at so many prompts last week, knowing I was unable to touch them for a little while...there are a few too sweet not to give them a try.

Your finger-tips, once warm and tender

Rake across a listless turf

Then, an argent swell of splendor

Now a cold and darkened surf

Thought can be a calloused reaper

Stripping pleasure from the vine

Trampling all but truth beneath her

Folly yields a bitter wine

Where soft laughter filled night’s hollow

Now a low and hardened moan

Clenches twilight’s deepening pallor

With the timbre of a stone

Your lips, once sweet as dew-kissed roses

With sad triumph I decline

The door ajar now firmly closes

For you are no longer mine

Janet Martin