Deserted love

So long ago these faded memories
How she ran away so many years ago
Away from the love that was dead
Carrying her burden on her hip
Flying to the desert place
Where tiny houses lay so very close
And picket fences kept the border
In check.
To find the love she thought was waiting.

The child plays on the red dusty earth
Green soldiers forms of plastic men
Rolling in the dirt
Riding the truck that was missing the wheel,
Not quite whole.
Cigarette smoke and voices drift
Through open windows
Laughing and happy
Then tears and harsh words took over.
The sky burned brightly and a day passed
Before flying the metal bird
Back in time to that other place,
Where love did not exist.

And the child played once more
In grasses green
Where blue skies floated peaceful
Above her head,
And she talked to the birds
To the animals she found
And she knew that this was not her place,
And she searched the night sky for stars
And the moon would whisper to her
And she then knew what love was,
Open and limitless
Like the night sky,
She knew that her coming was for something,
For someone else,
But that she too had to learn
Why she arrived in this time,
In this place.
She was a piece in this adult puzzle,
Where so many pieces lay missing
Leaving it up to her to find
The missing ones that would make things whole,
That would bring to completion
The perfect image.

Thoughts on broken marriages and seen through the eyes of a two year old child that still remembers even forty five years later the images as if it were yesterday.


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I am a sometimes poet on a quest to master the universe of my mind. My writing runs the gamut of nature, off beat, life and basically the world as I see it through the windows of my eyes. Welcome to my blog. Sit a spell in your big comfy armchair or favorite spot and read for a while if it suits and don't forget to leave a comment to let me know who you are and all that jazz. Looking forward to what each day brings and catch you on the flip side of the stars. Peace and blessings.

10 thoughts on “Deserted love”

  1. That’s the thing about we humans. A sound, a scent, an aroma transports us immediately to somewhere in the past to recollect and to relive. It’s not selective, though. As your poem suggests, like a pinball it pings between the good, the bad and the ugly. Sepia tones in words. Very nicely done.

    Liked by 1 person

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