BETRAYAL
A gust of wind slams shut the door
as, cold and damp, the night invades
his greying locks of unkempt hair
and dead leaves blow in ragged turmoil.
Shattered now the ornate glass
in scattered shards beyond repair
as each new footfall careless placed
endures the cuts of indiscretion.
And as his breath like fog balloons,
no artificial dusk of neon
penetrates the black of night
and dark grey clouds defy the moon.
Freed now from fraudulent imagery,
ahead he walks the mossy path
where grief, regret and loneliness
bear no relief from torments grasp.
Michael Edwards © October 2015