by Peter W. Robinson

Created on: March 22, 2009

what is love as time goes by
the draining of the colored sky
the leaving of this bitter taste
a clutching, reaching, yearning waste

a clock is ticking on the wall
a wind is blowing through it all
and night approaches with it's dread
and laughing chance rears up it's head

what becomes of fevered dreams
are they just like coffee's cream
dissolving into blackened heat
tainting all we chance to meet

it's easier to walk away
fold the cards; refuse to play
and leave the memory behind
and hope that it will fade in time

with isolation now complete
I walk in barren desert heat
saddened and betrayed somehow
As though I should have learned by now

and when I now lay down my head
my dreams of her are left unsaid
an empty vessel's empty soul
the bell has sounded: final toll

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