…of my desolation

A voice is calling to me from somewhere deep inside
and it sets me to yearning, recalling the time before the fall
when my now broken heart, was still filled with longing
when every thread of thought
was like the gentle wind, whispering through the eaves
the morning is always constant and comforting
lazily drifting on the edge of the night
and rolling in with the tide
I ache for you to return to me
but it is as if the earth could reach the moon
or the sand bury the sea
for there is nowhere to hide from these memories
you unfurled me, like softly petalled blossoms
and from the darkness I was finally blooming
beneath your summer skies
while in the shadows you were slowly creating
repainting my colours
and when you were done I found myself adorned
in the varied shades of deception
unaware of my impending fall, oblivious to my fragility
I was dancing like a snowflake
joyfully sparkling on a shaft of sunlight
unaware that I was all alone
that I was already there
on the desolate path of shadows
that would lead me in time to the long winding road
to the inception, of my desolation
© Ann Bagnall