Everything should always count,
Even jealous years trying
Through memories of promise.

Some thoughts have consequences-
My fate’s pawns play
Upon plots against passions
And pause to sustain dreams.

But, we are the stuff of dreams
And, in our wispy existence,
Words cut deeply like rapiers, and
Neglect surrounds with suffocation-
Pretense wins the day!

Every hurt is cherished, preserved,
And revived with each pained breath,
Oppressingly cheered to know
That I have weathered that too.

Then, hand in hand, we turn
Towards the lowering sun,
Aging towards the sunset!