The Spell Is Broken
The spell is broken, the sand seeps from the hourglass.
A clock ticks mindlessly on a midsummer day.
Wishes lost to a sea of history and sage advice fallen from grace.
When this my breath I follow to find peace at last.
Would not but you that I hold dear, a tear upon the cheek.
An apparition that once was reality forms in the mind.
Too real to be a ghost, opaque in its manifestation.
Lost but captured upon the page and set to melody.
Were not those the sweetest of memories?