Saranesia

Down the road
a boy would
go

into darkness

fearless

afraid,

she never stayed

and the living gravel
would bite
at his feet

whilst moving headlong through

a kind of haunted sleet

"a cold has come"

though he trudges on

to some unknown end

to begin

again

where was she

if ever she were there

the flame of his despair

a warmth of a kind

that left no trace

behind

that she would ever

care

again

then he would pause

indifferent to
any cause

and upwards he would
gaze

into a kind of blinding
space

where a light should

cut its
way 

casting off

remnants of a 

past 

at once forgotten,

spoken of
in hushed tones

a memory of a reminder

that she were there,

any and every

where

head down

reposed

onward he 

goes, his

Saranesia

in the distance

knows.