The day when all days became the same,
was when the clocks began to tick-tock,
after Time became my keeper without blame,
the day you left and minutes began to mock.
Emptiness joined loneliness on that dreary day,
while echoes of memories clamored all about,
and traces of you lingered to keep sorrow at bay,
if only between burdened sighs of melancholy clout.
Our love brings us together with such endless joy,
and ripples our departures with a rending tear,
turning our blissful union into a sort of tethered ploy,
which often times feels like Fate's testing snare.
In your absence I feel as though I will eventually fail,
only to be restored each time our lips meet for a kiss,
for even if my faults span the distance to prove no avail,
your cherished presence convicts me of being remiss.
The day when all days became the same,
was when Time nor distance mattered any longer,
but only the burning of the eternal flame,
that forges melded hearts into something stronger.