Poem for October, 2013

October's secrets stalk at night.

Brood on hidden wicks alight

Keep impassioned thoughts aflame,

While one in silence keeps the name.

Finger to the lips are wed,

Placid face cloaks tempest head.

Coming fast is cold November

And 'tis futile to remember

that there’ll be no respite there.

Wishful thinking fills the air

And its acrid smoke arises

From the wrecks of compromises

Made in want of happier times -

Litanies of wounds that belie rhymes.

But ever Hope toward skyline stretches
(known in heart by burned, scarred wretches)
            So they sit on Expectation’s throne.

Not a one considers leaving:
They give o’r their cloaks of grieving,
‘Til Fate doth smile! then walk no more alone.