It was a strange time within a strange time.
We cycled through each of the four
Distinct seasons in under ten months,
But could not make it through harsh winter
To find a second spring.

She was a bright summer bloom,
Fully emerged from the spring that
Saved her life. As is so often my way,
I remember her with fondness, even though
I never really knew her in the first place
And I forgot the day of the week.

Had my heart not already found
A home, it could have given itself
So very easily to her. Perhaps I do
Gravitate towards damsels in distress.

(Another poem about memory, another
Ode to regret, to missed opportunities
I could never have hit, penned
As the light declines. For better or worse,
My groove is never far away.)

I could have told her how perfect
She was, but she would not have
Believed me; the first to see
The conviction in my eyes was still
A decade and a half into the future,
With more breaking to do.

Instead, I focussed my futile efforts
On another battered heart, while keeping
Half an eye out in case she appeared
Again, this time from two pasts.

My attention was divided, as it
Always was, so I could never help anyone
Anyway. All I had to be sincere about
Was hope, and all I could hope for
Was one day to be sincere.

08/29/2016

Posted on 10/13/2016
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince