Echoes

When we take away what we think is true,
we're left with nothing around.
And our awkward glances bounce off the walls,
and trickle fast to the ground.

You remain dormant while I slowly pass,
not noticing what once was.
I turn away, as I then start to say,
"S**t, I think we're out of love".

And we waltzed around for a moment longer.
The dance, it was eloquent.
The steps were rhythmic.
I truly do love you, Guinevere.

And I trekked back to the parking spot.
And I see you in my car.
And you danced around with Lancelot.
You hadn't driven very far.

And the sour taste lingered.
You didn't care to see me go.
Four years, it rang in my ears.
The silence, the only echo.

Reviews

[Katy Otto]

Yep.

[Viper9]

Oh, I do love a good tragic romance.

Interesting, the reference to the other being dormant while you pass. As though you are developing and changing, growing and developing into your identity, while the other is stagnant in what was. Perhaps willfully?

[Ananke]

Excellent!

[Rachel DeHart]

This is a really interesting poem.
I love the ties to old knights and then the return to modern times.

Thanks for sending the read request. I really enjoyed this.