These are windswept weary days of life,
torn by stifled, splintered strife,
often between a man and wife.
These days full of chaos swirl,
tossed and turned to twist and twirl,
often suspend them in a whirl.
These days remembered, moment's pain,
lodge themselves in depth of brain,
often powered hurts remain.
These days of aching tempests pound,
push these woeful thoughts aground,
often only these are found.
These melancholic images dance,
forgotten pictures of romance,
often lose their second chance.
These days and more crush, pull,
unwanted feelings, lover's fool,
often only heart's frozen pool.
© 2013 ajwrites57
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Image by: Ivan Aivazovsky [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons