A shrouded moon hides my nightmares
not really of my own making,
but they persist to cling to me,
the memories a mirage lost like flotsam
bobbing and tossing in mid-sea.
His Pan-like charm lured me like a siren
giving me a peek of sun into my dark caves
His wit would put a smile into a stone idol
and I was sucked headlong into his world
only to find it a well of black
a vacuum quieter than silent
the silence vanishing backwards.
My world is now painted in shades of grey
a whirl of taunting, aching images.
I am rolling a boulder endlessly uphill,
reaching a mental precipice where I dangle
dangerously on a broken bridge.
The past has bestowed on me the gift of loneliness,
happiness irretrievably lost - was it all a gothic blunder?