The flowers of the heart whither,

If you don't let them bloom.

As this loneliness starts

to feel like a tomb.

 

Your arms long

For someone to hold

As this empty feeling

Grows to old.

 

People start to see a story

Deep in your eyes.

Too many reminders

Of the tears you've cried

 

Passion becomes a thing of the past

As this cloud over your heart

Becomes iron cast

Due to the fires

That burnt to ash

so long ago.

 

Ashes

copyright 2001

by Jeff Benda

ALL Rights Reserved