‘Tis a sound of constant ringing,
echoing bells with no substance:
a gold sheen merely cascades
over the hard metal,
and doesn’t relent
when rust overtakes it.

I can barely see it
reflected in you:
your eyes dim in the morning;
and the rain quenches your flame
so that I wonder if
you are still the same.

Reality sinks in, slowly,
and it dawns on me as the sun:
it’s dark now, it’s gone,
and I can’t get it back.
It refracted off your smile,
and back into my heart.

Are you a resounding cymbal,
so desperate to be heard:
looking back with regret
on your sober face,
and longing to rediscover
what love really means?


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