The Almost Love Song

By Marian Ford Park

In autumn when swift zephyrs pick the sleeves

Of summer and begin to haunt the hills

With masquerade of gold and crimson leaves

I walk a lane of memory that fills

This ever a growing need..."The could-have-beens."

Each byway taken leads to long ago-

My log of efforts, failures and the wins...

A futile pastime, but this much I know,

We all slip back and muse in retrospect.

And old love steps in view for me to see-

My choice was made...the caring and neglect

belongs to everyone, not just me.

But there are times I have to wonder why

I cannot let this "almost love song" die.

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The Sound Of Lonely

By Marian Ford Park

Loneliness

makes an empty sound.

The vacuum of an abandoned house

or the stillness in a room

after the door has closed

on a loved one-

these are the sounds

that live in the night

and make the soul tremble.