by Marcus Bentley Wise

Created on: February 23, 2010

Innocence in a sense died that day.

Die as we cried for the sake of the other who was left behind.

The unkind hand of fate cut low, the sucker punch blow that brought you to your knees

No time left to tick by as we sit and watch the years disappear.

Despair haunting the shadows of all the things we should have said and done.

Nothing now can be undone.

To late.

To grate the gap between what we should have and what we did.

If only and why the only question , haunting like a dream like spectre , hanging in the wind.  

Ghost like sit and wait.

Nothing more to be done.

Only the yearning of the present past cutting threw to the bone.

Beep the open wound of the sorry pouring out daily never to go.

Receiving help wanting none and only holding on the cherished past of a smile now gone.

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