It feels like I already wrote this one,
recapped a pen and called it done.
Now I find it moss crumbling and alone,
slipping from fingers suddenly dead.
My memory captures words you said,
a relationship dry; thousand year old bone.

The soft glow of reason and reality
has become a sullen stranger to me.
Gone are all the rhymes and reasons
that used to pour like honey from lips,
beguiling, charming like poisonous sips,
enjoyed for moments sting for all seasons.

Into the valley that became my lost soul
former love isolated by loss of control.
Trapped and caged here, no birds sing,
to blot out the accusing voices in my head
that ceaselessly repeat words she said,
resounding with a cracking bullwhip sting.