The Waiting Chair

In dusk's damp doorway to beyond,
You wander in perfect peace.

My heart has broken and been tossed into the waist pile.
"What use is this hair of mine. To whom shall I adorn myself"
The sound of scissors, snip, snip
Slowly, silently I watch my hair float to the floor,
like dandelion fairies on a summer's breeze.

Grief's haunting song dances around my ears
and has become my constant companion.
The world seems somehow faded,
Vibrant has left the color wheel.
My memories mingle intimately with moments melancholy.

"Let us pretend you will return in spring and even now,
you languish in some warm place waiting to return to me or I to you."

At night I hold hope high that dream's state will pull back the veil,
and give me but one brief glimpse of you.
Bargains bend my pen in desperate negotiations
with God and Angels.

Now my days are filled with detached ambition,
as I watch once youthful countenance fade
while sitting quietly at the door,
waiting for it to open to me as it did you.

How long must I wait.
What wish must I wish.
Why must I remain in the remains of the day
watching the sun set so slowly
that time seems overdue.

Oh blissful ending when will you reunite us,
and if not soon,
Please give me new life that I may re grasp my will
and live without the waiting chair.