seven days of reflection pt3

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(or: his beginning, no longer my end)

winter storms usher in
a weakening
all that has grown strong.
lightning splits tree in half
its' charred reminder
etched across tender heartwood
two paths diverged in a yellow wood*
but Robert is a stranger
and when frost blankets the night
the road less traveled
is a lonely place.

a broken compass
keeps running in circles and
sometimes maps dont help

in the darkness
memories filter through cracks
in hallow facades.
the warmth of temptation
melts fists into fingers unfurling
slowly tracing
the aching grooves
his sleeping form once wore
into sheets now cold and empty

in the darkness
phone and key and car and door
turn enemy
inviting me to run,
arms outsretched,
into midnight streets that should be forgotten

(resoluteness has never been my strong point)

but morning breaks
all too soon
and again i don the mask of aloofness
like a scarlet letter
damning sins of the flesh
in a self-constructed display
of strength

and through it all he laughs
claiming to know me
better than i know myself
not realizing
that warmth now comes
from a brighter sun
and i have no need
for his candles in the darkness.

*from The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

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