Wither
Matthew Ryan Fischer
A simple touch turned rose to dust.
A lifetime of thorns still in his hand.
The autumn night chilled twisted bone.
The silent remains of all that was alone.
Times moved on but a tear remained.
The photos gray, and memory thin.
The stones stayed still on the passing hill.
But the silence deafened him still.
The days were cold; nights grew long.
The shadows fell; the wind turned strong.
The memory of a smile so clear.
A wish or a want of a fantasy dear.
Sunsets too few as the sands slipped away.
Nights were dark, winter had its way.
The love of another, a broken trust.
A single life, turned to dust.
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