All That Is Left Is Memories

White petals drift unnoticed to the chill marble floor
of the dark halls of my troubled mind.
Withered innocence lingers like smothering incense,
choking off all unshed tears, glimmering.
All that is left of the past is memories:
bittersweet and full of cloudy remorse.
Broken ties cut apart as parting ribbons,
lying trampled upon by countless feet;
kicked aside and spat upon.
Disgraced thoughts huddle ashamed
stricken with a thousand words unmeant
and little white lies dug to deep: infected.
I'm swept too fast as season's pass,
lost in the maelstorm of life,
"Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold." (1)
All that was once strong shall crumble,
to lie in dust and blacken once pure petals
of a friendship long since departed, yet never forgotten.

(1) Quote from W.B Yeats "The Second Coming"

*** In memory of a friendship missed dearly. ***