Sometimes what solely is left are remains;
They last longer than carpet stains;
They are imprints on brains and travel by plane;
Into the recesses of thought where they are laid to waste.
I did not wake today thinking I would make remains;
The kind that come from lovely invitations;
And unplanned dances with the ill and vain.
It was a mere outing to be with someone, romanced;
It was a mere chance, a scribble on a piece of paper,
That turned, somehow, into one thousand letters-
And burned in the fireplace flames.
There were pictures of course;
There were rough times, countless rhymes-
And riddles dancing in the air, without a care-
Until the night time came.
This is my true appraisal of love;
Whatever comes, by day or by night-
It is vanquished and oft comes undone-
And the remains are the last burning light.