Footsteps and Roses

Footsteps in darkness
are silently made
across the mud-grass floor,
one inch a minute,
with red rose in hand,
he walks to the girl he adores.
The owls cease their wailing,
the air becomes chilled
as he passes the wrought-iron gates,
cold mist at his feet,
he walks to the beat
of this heart-wrenching silence he hates.
Footsteps no longer
on lawn but on path
as he steps from the grass to the stone,
and though she is only
mere metres away,
he has never felt quite so alone.
It seems like a life
time ago that he saw
that miserable smile on her face,
now all that has been,
and all that was good,
is now nothing more than a waste.
In less than a moment
the footsteps fade out
and he wonders why she wasn't saved,
he stands tall and silent,
then stoops to the ground
before laying the rose on her grave.