Soliloquy

When the poem I wrote on the clouds
Found its way to you by the sea,
It was easy to forget all my doubts.
No sense of duty, nor cheering crowds
Could have granted such ecstasy.
In your wrinkled brows, I could see

An apology for things you had not done,
Penitence for words you did not mean.
The joy was not after the day was won
Nor were the stories that we spun
By friendship, love, and everything in between.
What, in fact, had we been?

I look back at those days with no joy
And avoid whatever I know you can sense.
It’s harder to build something than destroy,
Which, to our chagrin, we found. Oh boy,
Life seems dubious without evidence;
It isn’t easy to let go of this pretence.