Seriatim Poem by Stuart John Blaney

I know little but of those I've left behind,
why do days begin only to end?
I know little but these hidden paths of pain,
why these silent furies in my heart?

Broken light breaks through the shadow of a tree,
its roots bound deep in promises.
The light piercing our borders,
the windows, the doors,
silhouettes on the wall
breaching our distant sleep.

Your restless ways made me walk in circles
with my shadow whispering in my ear.
The spiraling force of its shell,
burning the page of my existence.
Our tangled love unfolding,
fading, dying upon a kiss.

Now, I seek the warmth
of stones, of leaves, of wood
to carve your symmetry.
And as you grow small in the distance,
standing by our banners
blown and tattered in the wind,
the rain falls gently
and I know a sadness
that looks like spring.