camelot has fallen

. . . . the sun sets below the tree line,  just past the wheat fields.  another tough day done,   a broken heart weighs heavy, and crushes within.  the thought of it all going away,  the fun,  the need  and the desire gone as simple as an eraser to pencil,  or maybe a rug being pulled away from under where i stand.   gentle breeze blows slowly across my face,  through the trees.   sitting here on the front porch steps,  my face in my hands,  wondering what the hell i did,  or what just happened.  because it happened so quick,  it left me in utter disbelief.    and now the words that were once in a neat pile,  now just flutter away,  leaf by leaf,  word by word.  and now the music we made love to is now just a knife stabbing  my feelings,  haunting my  memories.  the hunger comes and goes, and  i want to eat,  but there’s no one here to share this meal of  forlornness with.   i take a bite,  and i leave the rest to get cold.  desperately seeking for hope,   the blackened room blinds,  searching  for another  fresh start,  but there’s nothing left in your heart.  bedtime,  the coolness of the sheets,  the softness of the pillows and the complete quietness that screams out the loneliness.  i reach over to hear your good night,  and it’s not there.   the sheer pain in my body of emptiness,  kills me  to sleep.  the quicksand dream,  and the reality of you not there,  after the walk home dream,  i wake in the pool of tears.  no one is there to hear;   my plea has fallen on deaf ears.   a new day,  and i walk through the motions,  numb.   my feet reluctantly touch the ground.  the darkness surrounds the moment  i look to see my good morning start.  not there,  i take a deep breath,  and run my hands over my face,  walk on over to the sink and turn the knob.   cupping my hands,  i gather water,  and splash it upon my face.  doing this a few times,  i think about the day,  and all the things that need to be done.  i dry my face off and look in the mirror.   the worn out eyes,  the smile that has disappeared,  this is not me.  the early morning rain softly tapped on the kitchen window.  i reach for the coffee and start the brewing.  leaning on the counter,  standing there,  not in a morning haze,  but rather in a memory daze.    grabbing my cup,  i fill it with the welcoming brew.  i sit at the table and take a sip.   gone is you,  and the pain of  losing remains.   my body says “get up and go”,  but there,  my mind trumps and i waste time,  sitting in my chair motionless,  wondering how  i can continue on without you now.    gone is you,  and the pain of losing remains.  slowly i get up and get on with the day.  i move through the motions,  but the memory sticks with me,  haunting,  attacking every action,  every direction;  where do i run to?    Camelot has fallen,  and now sits empty.    gone is you,  and the pain of losing remains. . . . . . . .

c.2013  BGW

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