The Withering

The raven's feet surround my eyes
Like rays of a fugacious sun
That blear with expectation
Reserving impressions for tears to run
Down the stream of ambuscading lines

The magic in my labyrinth wears 
Of every spell and adolescent remnant held
To avoid the reality I fear
As a shadow looms in the aftermath
Of every recalled aspiration
Always inevitable to collapse in tears
When optimistic eyes are restless
And discern no reason to defy
The befallen gloom of emptiness yesteryear

I live in isolation and so I had before
But time then had helmed you closer
With every stroke advancing like an oar
I am already there, a broken man
Who walks upon the tide-swept sand
Of love's untravelled shore
Unto a desolate grave of life unshared
A rock I know is mine, as much as it is yours

Yet I will wait in misery, until winter's wake arrives
By a conflicting shade of apricity
Where the rain seeps through the coldest gale
As the warmth signals the approaching light
I am already there, chasing unsent letters
Dwindling devoid of dreams, now memories overgrown
Requesting salvation whilst commemorating hope
With tears for efflorescent years, the withering