Discarded book

Joseph spoke of a fight,
a tussle between two lovers
who could not live together
but could not be apart.

Hannah saw a reunion,
a sophisticated woman,
leaping from her seat
in delight at seeing her man.

For me it was just sadness,
the kind that eats at your soul
and dims the light of day
leaving no room for hope.

Christian thought no such thing,
seeing only forgetfulness,
a projection of his own trait
onto an unknown stranger.

The truth, of course, we'll never know.
Those forgotten pages lay open
but remain closed:
the story they tell is not their own.

Picking up the pieces

You tell me, as you close the door
you need some time alone.
It's not the words you say that hurt;
the coldness that you've shown
cuts through me like a winter breeze
and makes me feel so low,
as you fight with the demons
of the life you used to know.

I used to think that you would be
my life, my heart, my soul
you'd lift my life and I would long
for you and you alone.
But summer does not last all year
nor, little did I know
could your love for me overcome
the life you used to know.

Now staring at the wooden door
I wonder how to find
the words to break through your cold shell
and get inside your mind.
It doesn't seem to make a difference
what I say or do,
I'm picking up the pieces
of a life I never knew.