The Conversation

THE CONVERSATION

Dews on wilted petals, ephemeral hopes which die
Wrap around frozen trees, as white, thorny briars;
In the miasmic air
In the moonlit square
A fountain, forgotten, does lament and cry
And solemnly expires.

Next to the dreadful, solitary park
A breeze blows forsaken, ominous and dark,
Consuming the night, and its prescient fires.

Two dead figures raised from below
Walk upon the grasses, the reeds and the wheat;
One wraith asks the other in the still of the snow:
"Does your heart still beat
To my heart's beating?" - "No."
They walked upon the reeds and the grasses that were dead.
And they passed as ghastly spouses, no longer entwined,
As their forms were cloaked by mists, nebulous, unkind.
And the night alone heard the words they said.

John Lars Zwerenz