At last, the toxic emotion has been cleansed,
the ever-encroaching wail of love lost
leeched from corridors
better left untainted by its embrace.
Colors, drained from walls
once lined with landscapes of dream,
return now to gray cobbles
graced with arachnid splendor.
Barren chambers devoid of warmth
enhance the triumphant cry of isolation's victory,
and accentuate the death knell
of companionship’s desires cut short
as darkness envelops each ventricle in turn;
sheltering the castled king once more
within its welcomed silence ...
to gently erase the crimson stain
of a love grown cold.
Keith E. Sparks Jr.
Copyright © 2004, 2019
Written in 2004, Later appeared in "Facets" 2019
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