Idyllic

Walking there, it’s strangely familiar, knowing the storm is near,
a showering of little reasons that bring your flight of fear.
I asked you what the day would bring, and somehow you would know,
“A troubled past is that,” you say, “so very long ago.”
I wondered, and you noticed, the meaning on my face,
of similar days that faded away and left anguish in their place.
But somehow you can change this, can make the moon less blue,
somehow it all seemed easier, when I was so in love with you.

And, there they sit, so still and solemn, quietly they will fade,
silver swans, cobs and pens, beneath a weeping shade.
I wondered while I watched them, transfixed by this swan’s lake,
I pondered all the seasons, that have left us such heartbreak.
“Feathered wings,” I whispered, “Do they bring you to heaven's door?”
“Like lonely legs,” they trumpeted, “They can bring you nothing more.”
So I sit, and I watch quietly, there is truly, nothing I can do,
watch, as you leave me, don’t worry, I expected you to.

Dying swans and weeping willows, quite the maudlin pair,
but if I search deeply for beauty, sometimes, I can, find it there.
Within that lonely canopy, I looked into their eyes,
and saw the seasons changing as they spread their wings to fly.
Another day, another swan, another story too,
and once again, my cob-web will be, another man like you.

__________________
you can tell them all you want but it won't matter until they think it does

p.s. I contradict my contradictions, with or without intention, sometimes.