But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?
—Atwood

[IMAGE: https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmfJKivtjAaWSgSTPCdVt28trtbHZjtHT9UuyxMdhLZBvC/gershon-iskowitz-self-portrait-1947-ngc-contextual.jpg]

The Moon asleep
In a blue haze
Up in the dark heights,

And you somewhere
Thinking of me

Adrift in a jumble of lights.

I regret the lies
And the many years
Lost to cold neglect,

A frigid walk
By a lonely park
Is all I have left.

I can’t go back
And retrace my tracks
Or find where I first strayed,

And words alone
Can’t heal the wounds
That time cannot erase.

I see myself
For what I am
Wretched, weak and base,

A man of sorrows
Filled with grief
Bent by his mistakes.

But sometimes
On a frosty night
When stars blaze bright above,

I think of us
And what we lost
To ruinous, fatal love.

© 2019, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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