‘we' Could Not Last Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

A
last
memory
being anything
other than nothing
to my eyes… Me, blinded
sorrowful, just another piece
of schist in the personal hell of
a failed relationship… Nothing
here to understand, it was all a
wanting of desires, with nothing
to exchange or give to… Remembering
me, remembering you; these were honestly
just lies. I forgot that beginnings are learning
the truth in friendships… Yes, I believed your
pride and my wait, just for a grain of sand
was having much, and speaking too little
making all of tomorrows just a guess…
So, how many seasons have passed?
One forgets, when the same is never
that interesting, and knowing that waste
most certainly remains waste… Pain is truly
sadness, and difficult to reply to; but in this
IAM always this way… Straight, I go, you
run; I became, you did not. Interesting
how so new colour, changes through
the seasons for no reason. Maybe it
is for this; that we could not last…