Now what? When everything you ever stood for has had the life strangled out of it and your ancestral home is going up in smoke, there is nothing more to say. Or think.
The memories are faulty and blurred, like a movie that you saw years ago.
The scenes are faded,
the plot barely recalled.
But everyone remembers
the thrilling climax,
Light and Dark battling
it out on your front lawn,
focused between
Mother's favorite primroses and the fire-eating begonias.
No one ever said being right was easy.
It would have been
miserable achy and awful, but you could have pulled through, with him
at your side and in your arms.
But the plot had a
hitch and the memories all agree; he is dead.
So here you stand at what is left of your window, staring at the trampled primroses and knowing that there is no next time, not for a Judas like you.