Slowly Silent

Rain weeps down the widow pane, silent rivulets of sadness,
Lead great sky clasps close, trees in soft dampness.
I wait chilled, as fear gripped, trembling, counting raindrops,
Sad markers of slowed time;
Acute senses, honed long, for your appearance.
Not a word breaks the cold silence, in the insistent drip of rain drops.
Longing to move, aching to be gone, yet rooted to our tryst point;
Silent and still, hope dies, for lack of warmed word,
Dank, cold seeps into marrow and bone.
No well remembered tread comes to break this mourning;
Down the tracks of memory: bright days run,
Tumble, in slow confusion. over the sheep cropped herbs.
Inexorably, slate grey sea rolls over seaweed covered rocks;
Sucking back the shingle, to cast detritus higher up the beach,
A strand line of regret, heaped up under rain washed sky.
Trapped, I wait, watching, transfixed, by each foaming wave:
How long the cry wavers, wrapped round stark cliffs;
Drowned, in flurries of spent surf.
Imperceptible horizon drains hope, far beyond retrieval;
All vestige of you, fled far beyond sight;
Gosimar threads, broken swept away; on long ago, with rising dew of morning.
The trail lies expunged, from ages past save in memory;
Blind with tears, rain falls, while chill rivulets excise the faded warmth of your presence.
None can retrace, in hope, the old byway;
Lost, in dim far recesses of mind; yet waits,
Still, for ever anchored in what might have been:
An ever broken tryst point; cold, as your far away resting place:
Crumbled into dust, on damp winds of ruefulness;
Silence weeps, unbroken, in remnants of promises: unfulfilled.