Dating : To Art

I.

As the words came and went,
I sit alone, immobile.
no smiling, no
crying,
no laughing.

no longer, touched
or
spoken to.
mutilated by,
the love
I cannot return.

isolation. There
was no
other way,
there
never really was.

why, I ask.
was my heart
blackened,
by the powder,
by the ashes,
by the ink,

I simply,
cannot write,
I, cannot,
think.
I cannot eat,
I cannot,
sleep.

what happened
to me,
unwashed,
unclothed,
maddened by

what could
have been, if
I had braved,
the fire
and not
let it consume,
me.

and these,
words, written
In the stain
of a coward are
all that is
left of

the summer,
the river,
the flowers,
the wine,

and it is
now that
I realize,
the hours of hate
must turn
into the
hours of Love.

and so, to you,
art,
my art,
I must allow
myself, to cherish
you,
once again.