Guilty uncertainties

Exposing his guilty uncertainties Telling the tale Of one who could not love If ever But briefly Believe In the word The wind crept round A cold corner And brought memories Of things Time lost and longed for The place was the same But all was gone When sleep abandoned him There was a space in the night Temporarily his own His very own Sometimes He would share that space With other voices But none were Hers She was gone He would never hear that voice again To share dreams That no longer could be It made him Reach out For a moment Then quickly withdraw From the touch Of anything Or anyone new He lingered No longer pursuing The receding constancy of change Of change For its own sake Some new idea Another high To bring his kind Lower than ever they had been It was as if He was resting In the familiar guest room Of an old relative's home Comforted by its reassuring smell Deliberately ignorant Pretending That things were Still as they had been When he has young Ignoring the loss Running deeper In every day that had passed since then Towards the destruction Of Her world And themselves There in the night He was free From that hopeless expectation The higher the buildings grew The more dark shadows They cast on his soul Bearing down With the unbearable force Crushing His very being Squeezing Life from his Mind Left hopeless To become Some somnambulist Amongst the promise Of gold filled streets Of the city Filled instead with unending fraud Fired in greed and fear The spring sun Brought a strange perverse Sense of futility For a future Where every seed’s setting Would be barren and ineffective And a past That lay desolate and pointless Full of discarded empty possibilities Where the seeds of destruction had been sown He was never Brave enough to try Now he had grown old inside Without even a dream to hold The cold reigned And the warmth of the sun Would not penetrate To warm him Back to life Too tired To take A new step Embraced By hopeless Abandonment To the fates Of others Inadequate Self-indulgent Lost on the path Least trod Which had once Been so clear And obvious Lost in fear Wrapped in a mist Uncertain and angry Never having paid What was owed To being alive The gift of life Turned to a sentence To be suffered Although he had to admit He didn't remember Too much Too clearly These days it seemed to him That for The second time In his life He had given up the steering wheel Whatever happened Was to happen He was completely surrounded He had already surrendered He was passing out of this world He did not believe in another Whatever was to come was Or was not Life needed the secret places Discovered only by walking paths Where others strayed but rarely If at all Where he was not required To expose those thoughts That made him vulnerable To have his ideas trodden down Buried by ill-considered mind-less thought-less universal footfall In secret places He could breathe deep And find The energy To face again