Stumbled through the daily fog.
Fumbled dreams have run their course.
Tumbled down a muddy bog,
crumbled by a callous force.
Feeling pain in every heartstring,
empty vows mean not a thing.
Reeling, words intent to sting
tempt me far from where I cling.
Holding on has lost its pleasure.
Moulding me to your designs,
scolding me as tarnished treasure,
folding me in crooked vines.
Powers I chose to neglect
touch the disappearing bliss.
Hours pass as I reflect.
Much has changed since our first kiss.
© Susan Schoeffield