In the misty haze of autumn dusk,
when the song birds were still and the crickets called,
I met a neighbor walking wild,
her coal colored hair long and unkempt,
staggering under sorrow’s weight.
Her dreams were broken;
split wide open and shattered.
The crimson blood of his pain
sucked the marrow of her strength.
His addiction – no,
his need and desire —
for pain pills was constant and growing.
Her cherished dream of their destiny –
soul mates on the porch,
sipping wine at sunset –
was replaced with his desire for death
and her buried fear.