The scimitar cleaves deep, drawing blood, in moments awake,

in the nightmarish twilight of accursed sleep,

beyond creeping evening where shadows creep,

across the haunting willows that continue to weep.

My longing for you knows no bounds, as I keep at bay desolation’s sniggering hounds,

deadened by the cacophonous crowd, muffling my ears to it’s battering sounds,

deafened by the parade that all wear plastic smiles as they do their endless rounds.

My longing for you, is a deep sawing ache,

assaulting my sleep, wrenching the moments when I am barely awake,

the desolate pangs of yearning callously take, all peace as my ramparts struggle to hold back the tide of tears, hoping against hope that my walls do not break.

This pining heart, this yearning soul, this broken man, sliced and diced, bruised and shattered,

realising now, and far too late, that is was only you who always mattered,

for as my being is flayed and mercilessly battered,

my broken heart lies strewn across the floor, savagely scattered.

How will I pick myself up from this splintered state,

when the jabbing continues, knowing that it will not cease, sure in the knowledge that the agony will not abate.

So all I do is walk and talk as I remain fractured and cloudy, misty-eyed and numb,

while the buzzing of people is nothing but a stabbing pinging hum,

rendering me mute, blind, and irretrievably dumb,

as I search the house for memories of you, your smell, your being, so I may hold onto just a tiny crumb.

I know now your departure was of my callous making,

not sharing much at all, yet always from your generous self greedily taking,

your emotions, your love, your very being, while your insides with silent sorrow was breaking.

It is too late now to turn back the clock of passing time,

as I walk these streets donning the fake smiles of a mime,

adrift in the sewers of emptiness, my only sheath this festering slime,

as I feel myself pockmarked with rusty grime.

I know that I took your love for granted, not caring to see, even as we each walked our own way,

but what wouldn’t I give to have it all back, to share with you your presence, if only for a day,

as I realise that I treated you as a bit-player in my self-serving play,

always thinking that you would to my rhymes placidly sway,

smug in the belief that you would never walk away.

This is not a plea for forgiveness, nor is it meant to tug at your heartstrings,

I do not mean to torment you with words of contrition, nor to stir up nostalgia and all the lying memories it brings,

this is my adieu to you, my darling true, as you soar through the skies, rising in joyous flight, no longer trapped by chains and cold metal rings,

as you finally, feel the glorious sunshine cascading over your unfettered wings …