Flowers of Solitude
and impersonal mementos,
four cold white walls
and curtains strung of gold.
Shelves filled with empty knowledge
pertaining to nothing at all.
It is the wilted bouquet of youth
and the saddened disappointment
of becoming old.
A past that never was;
a future that never will.
Slow Deterioration -
Dreams that have begun
to show the wear of Time.
Love that cannot save itself -
love that won't let go.
Life may lose its luster
but never ceases to glow
The glow of rare small hope
can be torture to the soul.
So torment grows,
gnawing at the edges of all things
enshrouding the soul in regret.
Until finally the moment comes,
when all is dark,
all is death.
© Copyright 2016 Violet Vane. All rights reserved.
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