Heartache descends
these days in
blurred numbness ...
a quiet sense
of utter confusion

which falls softly
to the graveyard
where my soul resides --
like the last petal
of a peach rose drifting
on a spring breeze.

It’s not the stark
black agony
of childhood love,
nor the blinding
white fear
of teenage betrayal

only shades of gray
this time --
to blur and distort,
and soften the edges
on the harsh truth
of your departure.

Absent is the drama
of younger days
and the crushing
disillusionment
of my innocence
dying ...

All that remains now
is the silent suffering
of hopes drowning
peacefully
and dreams fading
slowly into reality.

Cliches echo --
reverberating wisdom
I’d rather not remember
and mocking me softly
for allowing
yet another heartache.