It is yesterday’s news, but you might read it some distant tomorrow, never knowing the when of it all. It fell apart again, but no one knew the signs; they were too busy in their lives of satisfactory rhyme.
The dregs in the pot that provided the coffee could perhaps illuminate, but by then, it was probably too late. Broken hearts litter the ground where discordant words often find their sound.
A whisper of waking to the morning linen gives hope, but the bed contains only one body, insufficient for an incident of joy.
Tomorrow is the predicate of yesterday, but today wends away. Fortune is no lasting friend but slips off with a passing wind. One seldom remembers but never forgets a love vanishing to purchase what survives beyond regret.
Familiar, those bonds forged over a bundle of years breaking down into stifled tears disallowed to tumble from wary eyes. No one left to ensure feeling together thrives.
©Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Friday, October 28, 2022