The Choice

The best of dancers ruined by a host

of other loves that to the heart may call.

Some choices must be made or not at all.

The dance too brief ; the song may end for most

and fly away from splendor of romance.

Crescendo reached and still the dance she owns.

Life is too short to settle, oh, for less.

Eshoo the heart; don’t make the dreadful choice!

Her soul now hovers.  Grief is like a plow

that pushes every goal to here and now.

 

(Was watching the Movie, “The Red Shoes” when I wrote this.  The agony of being forced to make a choice between two over-whelming loves can drive one mad.)

When Love is Gone

A world abandoned,  nature now attends.

She grows her roving vines; surrounds the door.

The sound of children’s play is heard no more.

Around the gnarled roots that grow and stray

she grabs at windows once held curtain’s sway.

No human voices echo through her halls

No more the roaming Jasmine odor calls.

What mystery escapes her stucco walls?

What place is this once held such loveliness?

Mad roots now rave and overrun her past.

They strangle unknown cause so long forgot.

When love is gone, then covered is the heart.

overgrown house