Loved You, Who?

No,

It was never a tattooed lady,

The mists of time,

Or the mast of a ship,

Which I sought.

I hankered for no fledgling

Of a woman,

Or Cape of Good Hope.

I lived by willing,

And searching

Simply for a safe heart.

I drew breath,

And my sketchbook had

The drizzle of life,

Running through its pages.

Like the charcoal which

Has been used

To dampen my spirits,

My marks were made

As if to represent

Diminishing tones

Or notes of a loved song.

I burnished my poetry

As best as I was able.

I Picked a random prize,

I was never one to choose.

And never asking you

Do you love me too?

I faded like fabric

In a sun lit place.

I lost all colour,

Became bland.

I shuddered

And clicked,

And the word was off.

Love did not stand a chance.

C2019 Chris Thompson

All rights reserved