Solace for Lovers

House of Heart

In October the pines  ooze resin.

Lofty crows flit among  rusty leaves.

Wisteria once so pleasant choke the burdened trellis,

their summer petals decomposing on a rusty gate.

From the branches of evergreens huddled lyrebirds

sing  cantilenas,  create their finest opus.

Below the smokey clouds my hands reach

to the heavens awaiting downy verses to fall

like feathers to my  ears.

I remain unwritten,  a journal of blank pages,

abandoned by a woman feigning nonchalance.

Today my eyes are a  brooding storm,

shades of a  deep night without a dawning.

In the forest a nightingale sings her  song

somehow her soft refrain makes it easier to bear.

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