by Alan David Pritchard

Created on: October 29, 2008

THE VISITOR

We have kept it alive, this half-dead thing,

feeding on promises and doubts and needs,

needing somehow to believe, then to sing

about its wonderfulness, while it bleeds

for a heart without restraint, a soul unfettered

by vague desire, past regret

kept it alive with titbits which we stole

from other dreams, unable to forget.

It was never ours like a wandering child

adopted into the home of barren hearts.

Nor could it stay near a couple so wild with needs

and bruised by too many false starts.

We'll be lonelier still, and sad to know,

that love visited once, but had to go.

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