In its most wicked state
tastes of sour lemons, molded from uncare
aware of its presence. life is frailty. love, it's burden.
carried upon backs that once moved mountains
the stones throw away, now too much effort
to give freely what shouldn't be yearned for.
his smile, a memory. happiness trapped in a hourglass
to the choices present. stranger, in same being
joy you disallow
a ribbon of history unraveled
if I known then, what I know now.