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Poetry
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| The Visit | |
| By alandavidpritchard | ||||||||||
| 19 October 2006 | ||||||||||
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We have kept it alive, this half-dead thing, feeding on promises and doubts and needs, needing somehow to believe, then to sing about its wonderfulness, while it bleeds for a heart without restraint, a soul unfettered by vague desire, past regret – kept it alive with titbits which we stole from other dreams, unable to forget. It was never ours – like a wandering child adopted into the home of barren hearts. Nor could it stay near a couple so wild with needs and bruised by too many false starts. We’ll be lonelier still, and sad to know, that love visited once, but had to go.
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