Undoing the undone,
he doesn't fathom,
Over looking what was not ever truely seen,
eludes her vision,
And tho the flowered ground upon,
Which they sat,
Is torn,
And withered,
A new season has yet to be seen,
Felt, touched, nor,
Has he breathed,
Bits and pieces left,
Seemingly centuries since,
He had,
Or will,
And happiness is prayed upon,
Those-that he has mistaken for his own,
Collateral damage left in his wake,
Knowingly he absorbs the pain,
So no one else will feel,
And the cycle continues,
To spin away,
Like the mind he lost,
And tends to recapture,
On one of these love-lost,
and,
Lonely,
days.
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