Specter of Loneliness

Her endless quest for the simplicity of perfection,
Leaves her mother of the fatherless once more
Yet high hope is afloat for acing the outcome
Of the new, sculptured face at her door

Spring passions blossomed alfresco in her violet visions of love
Quickly evaporate to ragged autumn foliage
Summer keepsakes as fragmented as the trashed feelings
In the winter of increasing indigo age

The susurrus specter of loneliness haunts “We can’t all”

She construes prayers, with each new dabble
The allure of hope makes opaque the chiffon memories
From the hobbledehoys to the well primed
As she, impetuously lets new love spin new stories

Jewels of rotund salt water illuminate her eyes
At the meandering gallimaufry of would be true love
But she traipses on; it’s all she knows
A mawkish slave to all she ever dreams of

The susurrus specter of loneliness mocks “And some of us don’t”

And each closed door is a hail of bricks
On the burgeoning wall around her heart
The attention once laved on the would be “one”
Becomes jiggery pokery just playing a part

Weary of the torrent of love moths to her windward fire
A burlesque shadow of happiness quilts her day
As native as the horse moist sprinkled kiss she gives
When this time she turns a twinkle of love away

The susurrus specter of loneliness laughs “And that’s all there is to it”