Pulled Westward (But Facing East) -8/16/2004

The hills, instead of green, have now turned blue
And Life is full of things I cannot do.
The verdant trees and grass are sorely missed
But I recall enjoying all with you.

The Lover’s heart is proven to run red.
It bleeds a quart for every word you said.
And I must join alone with clenchéd fist
The ever-loving, ever-damned: the Dead.

But in the blackened field there is some green,
Despite the burning, searing pain I’ve seen.
I hope perhaps in Heaven is our tryst;
Perhaps that we, who could not reap, will glean.

And after all this foolishness and pain,
I somehow feel like being a fool again.