I Never Once Forgot
by Ben Pickard
Perhaps she's there, perhaps she's not -
perhaps, in time, her heart forgot
that on that day, those years ago,
we came to love and came to know
each other's souls - our wants and needs -
we came to disregard the weeds
that life had grown around our homes -
the type that thrive when we're alone.
We promised, then, that in due course,
we'd set aside the bleak remorse
that had begun to taint our lives -
we promised that we'd force and prise -
a love from dust, a gem from rock
and that we'd loose that rusty lock
that kept us stuck behind these bars;
she said that she'd be mine at last.
But distance was, as distance is,
and distance in due course would rid
our hearts of mirth that had been birthed
and space and time would fell the worth
of all we'd built and so we tried
(upon a dismal, sad goodbye)
to stay the course - to build a bridge -
Alas! we could not scale the ridge...
A decade gone, so many years,
and now my one and only fear,
is that the castle, forged and built
has sunk beneath the soggy silt,
and when she comes, there's nothing left,
and I am drowned and quite bereft
of all the hope that once was mine;
the kind of hope that's doused with time.
Perhaps she's there, perhaps she's not
but I have never once forgot.