Love

for he was 
a soul 
more restless than most, 
with lingering thoughts 
of her 
that lay awkwardly strewn 
among 
his frantic pools 
of solitude, 
their treachery 
whispered on the wind 
carried north 
towards 
fields of magnolia 
burning. 
the day she left 
on the first breath 
of spring, 
a world that 
held such promise 
leisurely trickling 
towards a bitter after taste 
as she stood, speechless 
unwilling to accept 
the demons draped 
around his waist 
as he wallowed 
in the dust 
or relinquished chances, 
no phoenix shall rise 
here, 
for too much 
she has sacrificed 
for a love 
that ran its course 
left stale on a shelf 
with a price tag 
higher than most 
these bittersweet 
fields of magnolia 
now nothing but a crisp, 
smoldering picnic blanket 
where love once 
roamed...

Fields of Magnolia