Beneath azure skies of a rural village stands a house;
the long forgotten domicile of two lovers who’d once wed.
Declaration of love; ’twas recorded in the vows –
but ‘forever’ was diluted on the day I was mis-led.
I’d pledged to him my life and heart – to love exclusively;
he oft’ returned felicity far greater than expected;
conquests and tribulations, shared conclusively –
until the twisted hand of fate left me broken and rejected.
I ponder. I scan each room tainted liquorice black,
where walls shriek babels of retorts most unkind.
My spectre lugubriously resents fast approaching flack,
obliterating years of memories – I wonder if I’m blind?
And deaf also, ’cause from him not have I heard
a parting wish: “I’m sorry babes”. No goodbye. No note.
Why? Could not he utter nor write a single word?
No. My legacy’s a simile of the guy I did once dote.
Vivid recollections animate in frigorific room,
fancy photos of our wedding; Hounslow amphitheatre;
matt snapshots of our courting, since abandoned to the tomb;
while above my head his aura glows a compromising feature.
Enraptured I behold the phosphorescent portrait of his face,
precipitating tears I voluminously shed.
I turn to slam the door on this historic, haunted place —
then see his image beck’ning me to the tattered empty bed