She had become his last rose of Summer,
and as her petals fell, he felt a gnawing
in the pit of his stomach. She’d be gone soon,
blown away like the million grains of sand
that powders the shoreline undisturbed.
This love they shared had shattered the locks
and shackles that bound them together.
They found themselves beaten down
by the staff of life. But their love wasn’t written in stone.
It was a remnant now; fragments of a lost memory.
The moon rose to its peak and after
the calls into the night echoed back empty,
he realized he was all alone.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013


Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #102